


Hic sunt dracones

by xlechatnoir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 21st Century, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fenris/Dorian - Freeform, Implied/Past Rape and Abuse, M/M, Modern AU, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Post Trespasser, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tevinter Imperium, and when I say slow it means slow, past!Dorian/Inquisitor, past!Fenris/Hawke, they're all recovering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlechatnoir/pseuds/xlechatnoir
Summary: “Wait, are you seriously asking me to be a bodyguard of a Tevinter mage?”“Yes.”“Oh, this is just adorable,” Fenris scoffed and emptied his glass. “You must be really desperate.”In other words, the Inquisitor assigns Fenris to guard Dorian when he's changing Tevinter while Felix and the Inquisition keep their fingers crossed and Varric is monetising Fenris' every good decision (first: not killing the mage on the spot). Dorian discovers Fenris is no longer the elf he once saw at the party and guiltily dreamed about in his teenage years and Fenris is forced to either change his opinions on Tevinter mages or add a special "Dorian Pavus" entry to his inner dictionary.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm new to the fandom and I'm really happy that it's still alive and kicking with new fics and fanart! I'd like to apologise for all mistakes and errors in advance as I don't have a beta, so you'll be the first to read it. I'm planning to update it every three days.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

_Modern cartographers say there are no blank spots on our maps any more, but if you ask me there are still areas that remain undiscovered and require courage to be ventured._

_Viscount Varric Tethras_

 

It was already a third party he was brought to and so far definitely the most... glittery one. After his first official soirée at which his father showed him around like a golden fleece, Dorian decided that he and parties will become a lifelong friends. Although he agreed to come to this one just because Felix was supposed to be here. Some nights, especially when you're sixteen, even fountains of champagne, the most exquisite music and golden glitter floating in the air are not enough and you need a friend to sneakily drink all this champagne with.

He saw him the moment he tried to discreetly sip on a drink stolen when his father finally turned away from him. He was looking for Felix, “illegal” drink mid-air, mouth half-opened ready to make this evening even better. He was standing at the far end of the hall holding a tray with drinks.

“Who's this?”, he asked his father's back quietly. Halward Pavus looked down on his son and then followed his gaze.

“This is Lady Rosseau and her daughter, do you want me to introduce you?”, he asked back ignoring the drink in Dorian's hand, a failed attempt to hide interest and hope. This time Dorian didn't even wince.

“I'm asking about him”, Dorian didn't wait for an answer realising his mistake and just made a few careful steps towards an elf with a tray. He looked his age, he was lean, slightly taller than him, and was probably the most beautiful thing Dorian's seen in his short life. He stopped a few feet away from him, trying not to look too interested, especially as Lady Rosseau and her daughter started to be slightly too agitated by the presence of a walking future of the House Pavus near them. Dorian straightened up, had a drink like a proper adult and looked once more at the elf. Few strands of white hair were falling over his eyes matching the white markings covering his neck and arms glowing dimly on his olive skin. Obviously he's heard whispers about Danarius and his experiments with lyrium. When he was reading about it with Felix, they both felt like they were watching a car accident, both terrified, disgusted and fascinated.

This time, having the person who endured the procedure just in front of him, the only thing he could think of was the poorly covered bruise under the elf's right eye. It didn't take impressive perceptual skills to notice it, if someone actually cared enough to really look at Danarius' slaves.

“Tell me, Felix”, he started raising his glass the moment his friend opened his mouth and raised his hand to greet him from behind. “How someone could hurt something so beautiful?”

“Oh, so it's Dorian contra mundum tonight then,” Felix smiled putting his arm around Dorian's shoulders. Dorian looked up at the elf.

“How can it not be?”, he smirked to hide how heavy his chest felt at seeing the emptiness in his green eyes.

***

A year has passed since Hawke's death and his return to Tevinter. For Maker's sake, he didn't even want to be there, but coming back to a city that brought him only pain and sorrow and made it extremely difficult to escape from it in the first place was some kind of a twisted punishment he decided to bestow upon himself.

Still, being feared, hated or ignored was better than being pitied. The one left behind, the heartbroken, the “how are you holding up?”, the “do you need anything?”, the “we're here for you if you need us”.

After the funeral Fenris came back home, his first and last _home_ , with two boxes. He packed all his stuff to one of them, Hawke's to another. He strapped the first to a motorcycle and burned the second with all the things in it. What he really cared for has been burned already, now he was just cleaning up, protecting him until the very end. He wouldn't let them have him, make him into a martyr, put his shirts, belts and the watch he gave him in nice glass cabinets in a museum, a city hall or a police station. No one will take pictures with his things.

So he sold the flat and put everything else on fire. So he wouldn't stare at it, hold it and smell it until the end of time and until he runs out of self-respect and forgets to carry on.

That's how he arrived in Minrathous. Smelling of smoke with a cardboard box strapped to an old motorcycle. At that point the difficulties with renting a flat as an elf amused him more than angered him. At least some things were as they used to be. He knew Minrathous, he knew not to expect too much, not to hope, belong and get attached, again he knew his place and the safe paths he could follow.

A year has passed and he counted himself quite lucky as so far no one ever mentioned the hero of Kirkwall even once to him. Until the day his past decided to simply walk through his doors without knocking. He was finishing packing his bag after training, content with a pleasant ache he felt in his arms and back, when he heard a whistle. Fenris straightened quickly, all tense and ready once more. At first he thought that maybe one of his students forgot something, but then, none of his students would dare to _whistle_ in front of him or _at_ him.

“I told you he’s not going to be happy about this,” Varric looked up at Cassandra taking wary steps further inside and looking around. The place was quite spacious, but the ceiling hung low and five, thick pillars made it look smaller than it really was. The walls haven’t seen a fresh paint for quite a long time, yellowish stains visible here and there, especially in dark corners. Surprisingly enough there was something comfortable and safe about the place, maybe it was the soft, warm light or maybe it was because it was nothing like other interiors they saw so far in Tevinter. It was real, honest. A training bag dropped to the floor with a soft thud. “Nice place you have here, Broody.”

Fenris looked at Cassandra, a “you’ve done well for yourself” or “you’ve been doing great” hanging between them, but then she just smiled and nodded. Fenris always liked Cassandra, even though he felt how she faltered. He always wondered on the duality with which people usually approached him. In battle, always assigned to the first line; in everyday life, everyone tiptoeing around him, wrapped in a blanket and given space like a broken dog that spent his entire life in captivity. The name Danarius gave him became his curse in the end. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to blend in, when his markings flared, he wasn’t treated even like a dangerous breed, a feral dog, but like a wolf. He saw how warily they all extended his hands to him, enough to show a good will, not close enough for him to reach it. Except for Hawke, stupid Hawke unafraid of losing a hand, laughing that he would gladly take a chance even ending up with _him_ one hand short.

“Thanks. What do you want?” Fenris nodded back at Cassandra picking up his bag again and then looked at Varric.

“Help,” Cassandra took a few steps towards him. “I will be blunt. The Inquisitor sent us. After all things that happened with the Breach, Corypheus and at the Exalted Council, the time has come to deal with slavery in Tevinter. I know you two talked about it and you know that this issue is very important to…”

Fenris just scoffed. “I’m sorry, Cassandra, no offence, but no matter how impressive closing the Breach and defeating Corypheus was, changing Tevinter’s society is a whole new level.”

He would have gladly turned his back on them then and there, but didn’t make a move. No matter how much he wanted to be sour and distant about this, he couldn’t help clenching his fists at every mention of slavery and they knew it. It was his hit song after all.

For the past year he saw that nothing changed in Tevinter. They could have their new technology and fancy gadgets, but of course it would never be enough for the bloody mages. He knew that slavery was on the rise, elves from poorer districts trafficked or even giving themselves willingly for the sake of their family or their own. There were news about organisations being founded and then disbanded. He was approached many times, but all he offered was the training place and his time to teach others how to fight, so they could at least punch back and die standing. Fenris flung his bag on his back. He came back to this town to punish himself, not to save it, he was past believing he was capable of saving anything.

“But it’s different this time,” Cassandra pressed furrowing her brows, running short of her diplomacy.

“Different? Different how? When has ever anything been different in Tevinter, Cassandra?”

“Look… Can we at least have a proper conversation in a place that does not smell of sweat and where we can have something to drink?” Varric spread his arms and once again had a good look around. “I’m not calling your Broody without a reason, I get that, but think for a second, don’t you want to do something good in this shithole of a city? Can you imagine that? Good things happening in Tevinter. I’m sure Hawke would lo…”

“Hawke’s dead,” Fenris growled, his markings flashing. Cassandra glared at Varric to speak up to save the Inquisitor’s mission barely hanging on a string now, because of one word they both knew they should never use.

“I’m also aware of this fact, thank you. But yeah, let’s forget about Hawke. I understand that Danarius’ dead, so you’re pretty set, aren’t you? Why bother, am I right?”

“Varric, I just want to remind you that we didn’t come here to fight,” Fenris barely heard Cassandra’s voice, his head pounding with anger, lyrium alive under his skin. He saw the way she was looking at him now, eyes focused on his brandings, fingers flexing at her right sight, near the safely sheathed sword. Varric shrugged and came up to him, sighing.

“Ok, Broody, look. We’re here telling you that there may be a way to end slavery in Tevinter and that we need your help. All I’m saying that it’s worth a shot and I’m asking you to think about it,” he looked up at Fenris. “There are other people we need to speak to. We are staying in the Nephrite Dragon, for Tevinter they have pretty decent ale. You think on it.” At some point Varric’s words lost their previous punch. He just waved a hand and walked back to Cassandra never keen on convincing the unconvinced.

“We’ll be staying there for three days,” Cassandra added looking at him with unreadable expression. She nodded once again and walked out after Varric.


	2. Chapter Two

They could’ve gone for something less… Tevinterish. The inn’s adjoining pub was dimly lit, its walls covered with scarlet velvet quilted with golden buttons, each with a sigil of the inn’s historic, most notable guests. An honour a lonely elf wearing a black leather biker jacket that has seen its better days couldn’t even dream of. Even the one with lyrium in his skin.

He saw heads turning as he entered the room. Fenris didn’t try not to look out of place, without velvet, silk or at least a glittery staff he was sticking out like a sore thumb. He got used to curious looks and not so discreet murmurs, but this time he had to admit he was asking for attention coming to such a place. The bartender and waiters seemed visibly at loss not sure if they should serve the elf, ask him to leave or run away. Fenris was quickly scanning the room looking for Varric and Cassandra to put himself and the pub’s staff out of their misery. Thank the Maker for the Seeker’s height.

“I get that the Inquisition has to take care of its precious image, but considering the place one may think that you want to dissuade me,” Fenris sat on a heavy cushioned bench next to Varric who was taking a sip from a glass as big as his head. Dwarf smiled, white foam moustache on his upper lip.

“Well, Seeker, I’m guessing next round is on you,” he looked at Cassandra getting comfortable on a puffy cushion.

“I didn’t agree to anything yet, Varric,” Fenris reminded him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two waiters talking with the bartender and looking in his direction. Of course, who will serve the elf? He straightened up looking at them directly and raised a hand. One of the waiters pushed the other one. “I will have what my friend here is having, thank you,” he said calmly looking up at the boy who simply nodded and scurried away.

“No, but you came. I must tell you that I monetise every good decision you make on this mission,” Varric raised his glass at him when Fenris finally received his own. Cassandra rolled her eyes and also took a sip of her red wine. “Chateau de Defeat”, Varric quietly commented smiling victoriously but warmly at the Seeker.

Fenris couldn’t remember when was the last time when he had a beer with someone and could just talk and joke. He missed Varric, but Varric’s company as everything else connected to Kirkwall brought him back to what he was running away from for the past year. Smile quickly died on Fenris’ lips, now, when he was again painfully aware they were no longer in Kirkwall, but in Minrathous, surrounded by mages and elven slaves. The air around him again became thick, again he felt like he was surrounded by a dense cloud, breathing in fog, his limbs and head too heavy to carry.

“Let me properly thank you for joining us,” Cassandra started, feigning not to notice his thankful glance at her. “As you already know, the Inquisitor entrusted us with a highly important mission. I understand your scepticism, our reaction was… let’s say pretty similar to yours. It does seem impossible, but the Inquisitor proved us wrong multiple times already. This time we managed to gain a very thorough intel and a reliable source here in Tevinter.”

Fenris looked at her immediately, brows furrowed. “Which is?”

“Fenris… You must understand that for the sake of our source’s safety, I simply cannot…”

“So a mage then,” he put down his glass with a little bit too much force. Cassandra didn’t have to say anything. If this “source” were an elf, she would gladly share this information with him. Fenris took a deep breath not letting his temper get the better of him and let his effort required to come here in the first place go to waste. “All right. So what this _mage_ of yours told you so far?”

“That there is a political will in the Magisterium to change things.”

“To be more poetic about it, we can say that we were waiting for a wind of change and now we know that it’s finally coming,” Varric supplied tone now serious, his gaze heavy on Fenris’ face. He leaned closer putting his glass away. “Fenris, I get why it’s so difficult for you to believe it, I’m not fond of those Tevinter bastards myself, but even think about this. _Mages_ wanting to abolish slavery.”

Fenris leaned back on the bench his arms crossed on his chest, brows still knitted.

“And where does this political will come from? Did they invent a new cleaning spell?” He looked at the Seeker. Being a warrior, he never trusted vague concepts people used, fancy words that were like golden arrows. Beautiful, but absolutely useless.

“Long story short, apparently slavery is bad for business and there are fractions of magisters in Tevinter who realise that,” Varric shrugged. Maybe it didn’t sound poetic or inspirational, but in that argument Fenris could actually believe. They both told him briefly about what mages were whispering behind the curtains, about multiple letters exchanged between the Inquisitor and such mages and about diplomatic envoys they have been receiving in Skyhold for couple of months.

Orlais and Ferelden officially deplored slavery, next countries would probably quickly follow their lead. Trade became more difficult as more and more traders had too much trouble finding business partners comfortable with trading with slavers as they called Tevinters. Especially given Tevinter’s hardly competitive prices, companies were opting for easier business options and were gladly sacrificing better quality for less problems and lower prices. It didn’t surprise Fenris that even worse economy wasn’t enough to convince Tevinter to renounce slavery. Most of its elite was too proud to admit they cared anyway. Nevertheless, Tevinter, with its wet dreams about the history of the Imperium, was slowly beginning to realise that it was starting to resemble a screeching old man dressed in old-fashioned silks at a party where everyone treated him like a curious peculiarity the past left behind. And they couldn’t have that, could they?

“But you said you need me and I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean politics or diplomacy, so what for then?” Fenris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t like the look on their faces when he finished the questions. Varric shifted next to him suddenly interested in the bottom of his glass. Cassandra glared at him, before fixing her gaze at Fenris.

“As you probably have guessed by now, there are people who will do anything to stop those movements. We’re all still working on gaining power and convincing the Archon. It will take time and until then we must make sure that the people who are the most crucial to the cause are safe. Our source is one of such people and I must admit that keeping him safe is quite a… demanding task.”

“Do you mean this Tevinter mage source?” Fenris couldn’t believe his own ears and judging from Cassandra’s expression neither could she.

“Yes,” she replied not looking away and his respect for the Seeker increased at least tenfold. Fenris glanced at Varric, but the dwarf fell dead silent and looked like he was beginning to regret his decision to sit by the wall with no way out.

“Wait, are you seriously asking me to be a bodyguard of a Tevinter mage?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, this is just adorable,” Fenris scoffed and emptied his glass. “You must be really desperate.”

***

Varric was counting coins while contently puffing his pipe. He glanced at Fenris zipping his jacket and searching for his keys. They were standing outside the “Nephrite Dragon”, both quite pleased with a little bit of fresher air.

“I’m sorry Fenris for dragging you into this. I know it’s not easy for you, but we, _I_ really appreciate your help and not just because I can get richer because of it,” he smiled at the elf hiding his night’s loot. “Dorian, the mage we were talking about, can be quite a handful, but he’s a good guy and not just by Tevinter’s standards, but don’t you dare telling him I said that.”

Fenris looked at Varric not knowing what he was supposed to say to that. He highly doubted that any mage, especially a Tevinter mage, can be a good person by any standards. They all had too much power for his taste and at some point it was corruptive and destructive to all of them, he thought speaking from experience and looking at his own markings. He couldn’t comprehend how they were handling it on a daily basis and was not surprised every time they broke.

“I’ll do my best not to murder him,” he answered finally only half-joking and still fully aware of his mission. The elf wasn’t sure if they were not asking too much of him.

“Well, yeah, much appreciated, Broody.” Varric scoffed heading back inside. When Fenris didn’t say anything to that, he stopped hand already on the door. “I know you hate this, but… Really, how are you holding up?”

Fenris knew he was looking at him, but didn’t find the strength to look back at the dwarf. He hated the question as he could never find the right answer. Was he supposed to tell him here, on a busy street of Minrathous, while they both were getting looks from almost all passers-by, that he couldn’t sleep at night? That he had nightmares, but when he woke up from they, he couldn’t tell himself they were _just_ nightmares? That he was in constant pain because of the omnipresent magic and his markings? That he still struggled to go to a shop, because he felt like a thief spending his own money on himself? That being almost thirty he was still learning how to have a normal life, because his former lessons have been abruptly ended by a wicked twist of fate?

“I get by,” Fenris said waving him goodbye and walking away, as slowly as he could, just slow enough not make it look like he was running away.


	3. Chapter Three

They were supposed to meet the mage in the Imperial University’s main library. The night was unbelievably hot even for Tevinter and it was just the mid-June. Yet, Fenris enjoyed the smell of summer and it wasn’t about exotic trees and bushes, perfumed bodies roaming the streets looking for fun, smoke or food being eaten in the restaurant’s gardens and terraces. He inhaled the smell of warmth in the air, sweet, safe, and promising. Minrathous by night, when not less deadly, appealed to him more with its colourful lights and shadows kindly covering the city and giving him a safe space to hide. He wasn’t standing out so much during the night. The city was filled with music, street noises, laughter and whispers of all creatures difficult to tell apart at this hour. He found himself often walking the streets and looking at their faces lit up red, pink, blue and green with neon lights. At night they were apologising when they bumped into him. Fenris run a hand through his white hair, now slightly longer then when he had left Kirkwall.

Cassandra and Varric were waiting for him by the main entrance. Varric was sweating like a pig visibly annoyed at Cassandra’s impeccable state, the woman seemed immune to temperature.

“Great, so as Broody is finally here, can we go inside?” He asked looking up at the Seeker. Cassandra smiled slightly at Fenris and then he realised that she was actually enjoying making Varric boil and sweat far away from air-conditioned spaces. He did his best not to smile back at her following Cassandra inside.

Fenris himself greeted the slight drop in temperature with a relieved sigh. It was a Friday night and the building was unsurprisingly empty. Their footsteps echoed in a huge hall covered in marble. Just above their heads hang a dome with a hole gaping in the middle. A beam of silvery light was lighting an elaborate flower pattern on the floor. Most wooden doors were shut close.

“We should go up,” Cassandra whispered motioning to the spiral staircase which encircled the hall up to the dome. “He said to meet him on the second floor, third door on the left.”

The Seeker was the first to move and led the way, feeling the most at ease. Fenris would love to appreciate the architecture a little bit more if his markings were pulling at his skin so much and if he weren’t so busy regretting coming here in the first place. It all looked like a perfect ambush to him and those stairs, no matter how beautiful and magnificently carved, weren’t so difficult to fall from.

When Cassandra opened the doors the mage mentioned, his hand was already on the hilt of his blade. They walked through a long room lined with bookshelves as high as the room itself and rows of tables and chairs. This time Fenris was quite surprised at how… unglamorous the space looked like. No gold or gems, just a lot of wood and marble. He smelled the dust, centuries old books and soft velvet curtains hanging heavy in tall windows. Every now and then there were doors probably leading to reading rooms or private offices.

“I think we found your doors,” he said pointing at the mahogany door with a golden plate with “Lord Dorian Pavus” carved on it. Fenris squinted at the name and instantly looked back at Varric. “You haven’t mention he’s an aristocrat!” He whispered angrily.

Varric spread his arms innocently. “Haven’t I?” He smiled, but backed off when Fenris’ markings flushed with anger. A noise from the room silenced all of them. Someone was obviously pacing inside and moving things around. Cassandra straightened, smoothed her deep blue tunic and knocked earning another angered look from Fenris, who apparently wanted to come in right away not giving the possible enemy the upper hand.

“P… Please come in!” the person was audibly in a hurry and sounded distracted. Cassandra slowly opened the door and took a step inside. Fenris saw a medium-sized oval office with walls lined with bookshelves filled with books. More books were stacked in piles on the floor, a bottle green chaise longue and two desks, one visibly bigger and cluttered with quills, pens, pencils and all kinds of papers. Then they saw a young man crouching next to one of the desks struggling to lift a stack of books half his size.

“Good evening, how may I help you?” the boy asked standing up his arms trembling from the effort. He looked no older than in his late teens and was quite scrawny.  Fenris quirked his brow. If this was to be their valuable source, the answer to all elven prayers and the saviour of his tormented nation, they were already lost. Varric was first to find his tongue.

“Um… Where’s Dorian?”

“And who are _you_?” the boy asked back putting the books on a desk with a hollow thud. His distrait look was gone now and Fenris felt him focusing on his magic, gathering his mana, just in case. Suddenly, all parties involved started to wonder if they all have the right to be in this room. Cassandra saw the distrust in the young mage’s eyes, but she wasn’t sure herself if they haven’t just caught a thief or worse as Dorian was nowhere to be seen.

“We were supposed to meet Dorian tonight. We’re from the Inquisition,” she answered slowly not moving. Fenris knew from her stance that she was ready if things went wrong. As soon as she finished her sentence, the boy’s eyes grew big and he took a step back clutching his head.

“Oh no. No. No, this can’t be,” he whispered panic rising in his voice when he started to rummage through papers on the smaller desk.

“Could you, please, elaborate on that?” Varric harrumphed following the mage’s erratic movements with his gaze.

“But it’s Friday! You were supposed to come tomorrow… weren’t you?” It was enough to look at them to know they weren’t. He sat on the edge of his desk. “Lord Pavus is going to murder me,” he whispered to himself looking at the floor like he was already seeing the pool of his own blood. Varric waved a hand at him.

“Oh come on, I’m pretty sure it won’t be that bad,” he said lightly coming up to the boy. “Maybe you can tell us then where we can find Spar…, Lord Pavus now? We’d rather have this meeting behind us.”

The boy looked up at him. He seemed a little bit shell-shocked and Fenris started to seriously doubt in this “good man” picture Varric painted for him two days ago.

“Well, it _is_ Friday,” the mage said like it was explaining everything. This time, surprisingly enough, it was Fenris who first caught what the boy meant. He paled in an instant.

“Oh! You mean he’s partying?”, Varric laughed. Fenris decided that the dwarf knows him, and this Pavus mage, a little too well. At least Cassandra rolled her eyes at the realisation, joining Fenris’ anti-clubbing party. “Which one?”

“No.” Fenris said unable to believe what he was just hearing.

“The Feast,” the boy supplied happy to be of assistance.

“Varric, no.”

“Oh, don’t be such a party pooper, Broody. We do want to have this over with, don’t we?” The dwarf smiled widely at him. This time even Cassandra couldn’t help the elf. She sighed and said something about the necessity and the cause, but Fenris wasn’t listening. He had a rather unpleasant feeling that he’s beginning to see a pattern and this whole mission will look like that until it’s very end.

***

He hated it. He knew it would be like that, but he absolutely _hated_ it. They’ve heard the music and its bass from outside, three of them standing on the pavement pulsing to the rhythm. The club was packed and he felt like his skin is going to burst open with lyrium and anger. The mages were brushing against him no matter how carefully he was manoeuvring through the crowd. He smelled a mixture of perfumes, sweat and alcohol, the one still in glasses, the one in breaths, and the one already sticky on the floor. The only consolation were Varric’s annoyed grunts and grumbling as he was being constantly stepped on, bumped, pushed or almost knocked over. Fenris took the liberty to look around the club as he didn’t know how this Dorian looked like. The Pavus name was known to him, he remembered seeing Halward Pavus once or twice at Danarius’ parties, but couldn’t recall his son. Cassandra, leading their tiny group, was in charge of scanning the room as Varric was absolutely useless in this situation, most of the club’s clientele twice his height.

Fenris saw couple of elves serving at the bar and picking empty glasses. The whole place was pulsing with light, golden rays illuminating people’s faces and dancing silhouettes, red and purple neon signs flicking to the beat. Some brave dancers climbed two platforms to show off their skills or lack of thereof. Even though he was living in Minrathous for a year, he hasn’t seen so much silk, velvet, feathers and glitter in one place for quite a while. He was surprised they were let in judging by the status of the “attendees”.

“Oh, there he is!” Cassandra announced with audible relief pointing at the bar. At first Fenris saw a group of mages having a drink and laughing visibly comfortable in each other’s company. Then, when a girl in a tight, blue sequined dress moved to the left, Fenris felt a sudden pull of his markings. He looked surprised at his arms flashing bright and then to the man now clearly visible.

“Dorian!” Varric waved and almost jumped to be noticed. He marched forward first, Cassandra following him quickly, when Fenris just stood there.

No matter how much he hated to admit it, the man was… gorgeous. Glitter falling from the club’s ceiling clung to his sculpted, strong arms slightly gleaming with sweat. Fenris couldn’t remember when was the last time he noticed other man’s arms. The man ran a hand through his black hair perfectly coiffed in a hairstyle matching his finely defined jawline and cheekbones. He said something to Varric smiling and making his moustache move as well. He was casually leaning on the counter, dressed in black, a drink in one hand, a deep burgundy jacket in the other. Fenris wasn’t a poetic type like the dwarf, but, Maker, it seemed like the mage was indeed sculpted by gods and the elf seriously wanted to be exaggerating when he thought that. But there was something else. He haven’t felt his lyrium lit up like this in years. There was a power emanating from this man, a power that made his skin crawl with dread. He clenched his fists. This man shouldn’t be protected, but put down before it’s too late. Then he saw the mage was looking at him.

Varric waved at him again, Cassandra was already holding a glass of wine.

“Fenris, come here, let me introduce you to…”

***

“Maker’s breath…”

At first Dorian thought he simply had too much to drink, then that someone had a twisted idea to dress as an elf and had his body painted to attract attention. Just the thought that it may actually be _him_ was too difficult for him to conceive and accept. He felt Felix grabbing his elbow, the man looked more shocked than Dorian or at least as moved as Dorian was inside. He thanked his parents and Tevinter society for all lessons on hiding your emotions.

The music became more distant, voices seemed muffled and far away and he, having his teenage years long behind him, caught himself having the same reaction he had last time at the age of sixteen. But this Dorian was already too skilled to just gawk and let everyone notice. Thus he smiled marvelling at how all this light illuminated the elf’s skin and white hair. Fenris stood out from the crowd, now just like at that time at the party. He was magnificent in his beauty, but there was so much more to him that none of the mages had regardless of how much silk, glitter and golden they wore. There was a power in his stance, once deeply hidden, and the simplicity and honesty which were both incredibly rare in Tevinter and so inspiring and refreshing to see. One glance at his clenched fists was enough to tell Dorian that the elf hated him.

When Varric spoke, he felt Cassandra and his other friends tense. Fenris’ reputation exceeded him. Dorian didn’t let Varric finish his sentence, he put down his drink on a counter and stepped forward offering the elf his hand.

“Dorian Pavus, pleasure to meet you, Fenris.” But Fenris didn’t even budge glaring at him like he was contemplating if he should rip his heart straight away or give him a slow and painful death. “Well, I’ve heard you’re not too fond of Tevinter mages,” Dorian smiled letting his hand drop. For the first time he had a chance to properly look into those eyes that haunted him since he was sixteen. It was incredible to see how he grew, how proud and fierce he’s become, that elf with an empty gaze and an ill-covered bruise long gone.

“And you’re not the talkative type I see… Thank the Maker we have Varric for that.” He didn’t know why he’d done it, but he moved one step closer and the elf’s markings flashed bright making him wince with pain. Dorian backed off quickly almost jumping away from Fenris when he realised _he_ ’s hurting him. At this point, Fenris was already seething and murdering him with his gaze apparently not able to speak.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Dorian whispered startled so just Fenris could hear him. The elf’s brow went high in surprise at that, but he kept his silence.

Varric’s read and written too many books not to see that considering the way those two looked at each other this whole mission can end only in them killing each other or doing something on the completely opposite side of the scale. He was sure he wasn’t ready to see neither of these outcomes.

“Okay Sparkler, time to say goodbye to your friends and do some business,” Varric said to end the awkward silence. Dorian spun towards him.

“And weren’t you supposed to come tomorrow?” He asked politely. He was happy to see them, yes, but he wasn’t in a state appropriate for business meetings. The sole thought of a business meeting on Friday night made him cringe.

“No, there was some… misunderstanding,” Cassandra explained carefully not wanting to incriminate the young man from the library more than it was needed. “We went to your office, but your apprentice, as I presume, directed us here.”

Dorian sighed putting on his jacket in one smooth movement. “That’s most unfortunate as I really wanted to welcome you properly. I sincerely apologise for this mishap.”

Fenris snorted. The Tevinter smiled at him politely.

“La noblesse oblige, darling,” then Dorian turned around to his friends at the bar. He swiftly downed his drink, reached to his jacket’s pocket to retrieve a card which he gave to one of the young men accompanying him. They saw him whispering something to the man’s ear. “Felix, care to join us?” he smiled to a mage who was already getting ready to leave.

“All due respect, but we’d prefer to talk to you alone,” the Seeker spoke up eyeing the man suspiciously.

“Felix here is my wingman, dear Cassandra, and I’m not going anyway on a Friday night without my wingman,” the mage replied with a tiny smile playing at his lips when they made their move to the exit. This time it was Fenris who led them. The elf wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and to be as far as away from Dorian. Feeling the press of hot bodies brushing his arms with theirs, sleek with sweat, was more than he could handle in one evening.

“We’re heading back to the library, why would you need a wingman tonight, Sparkler?” Varric laughed looking at Dorian over his shoulder.

“Oh, who knows, my friend, who knows,” the Tevinter answered his gaze focused on Fenris’ back. Varric knew the smile he saw on the mage’s face and he was praying to all high forces it won’t get him killed this time.


	4. Chapter Four

They looked slightly ridiculous standing in an office of a member of such respectable and old educational institution as the Imperium’s University, all covered in glitter, two often them not exactly sober even after the night’s brisk walk. Dorian’s apprentice took his leave, postponing the confrontation for as long as possible, so the office was dark and quite, a stark contrast to the club. Fenris could still hear the constant buzz in his ears. Dorian flicked on the light and arranged a place for at least some of them to sit, mainly by putting more books on the floor.

The elf wasn’t letting the mage of his sight for reasons far different than ones Cassandra and Varric hoped for. Dorian moved with an ease of a young man aware of his looks and its effect on others. When the warm, bright light filled the room, he could see the Tevinter, and his state, more clearly. A man standing in front of him was slightly taller than him and well built, he looked strong, but… for Maker’s sake, Fenris was looking at a grown up man _covered in glitter_ (he still couldn’t comprehend why everyone seemed so all right with this), his cheeks flushed from the club’s heat and alcohol and dressed as for a fashion magazine’s cover.

_Lord_ Dorian Pavus was emanating power and confidence, but in Fenris’ world you didn’t fight with slavery with charm and indecent attractiveness. Integrity, strength, unwavering faith and relentlessness, these were the traits he was looking and hoping for. Maybe he was judging the mage too quickly, but Fenris knew men in which you could see those traits at the first glance.

“You’re telling me _this_ is this precious source of yours and the hope for Tevinter slaves?” he asked the Inquisition’s envoys incredulously motioning at Dorian who was getting settled against his desk dusting glitter from his arms.

“ _This_ holds two PhDs, is currently working on time magic, and also a son of one of the oldest and most powerful Tevinter families, a member of this renowned institution and a political group, thanks to actions of which we’re all here today, just for your information,” Dorian retorted calmly his tone devoid of the usual playfulness. He usually took every opportunity to brag even a little bit, but at that time he was simply stating a fact. Felix shifted uncomfortably next to him seeing the glaring contest between Fenris and Dorian starting.

“Dorian… I doubt that we’ve all come here for this,” he silently reminded his friend. “I bet that our friend here, Fenris, would like to hear a little bit more about our work,” Felix added taking a seat at a chaise longue near the window. The night was getting long for all of them, not to mention that in just few hours first eager students and professors will start to come.

“See Varric, that’s why I bring him everywhere,” Dorian sighed, but cast a quick, thankful glance at Felix. “I think that you better sit, it may take some time…” he tried inviting Fenris to join Felix.

“Thank you, but I’ll stand,” Fenris replied not moving, he was standing in front of the mage, arms crossed, watching him carefully.

“I insist,” Dorian pressed politely knowing deep down that he was being silly testing the waters and trying to have the last word.

“As do I,” came back a stone-cold response. By the look Fenris was giving him, Dorian could already see himself murdered in multiple ways. He threw his arms in the air having enough of this.

“I’m sorry, Cassandra, but is he aware of his task in this or was it me who didn’t get the last memo?” he asked exasperated. Felix was already seating with his head in his hands regretting coming here in the first place, while Varric was trying to come up with a witty response to clear the air especially as Cassandra was next to him alarmingly calm. When the Seeker slowly stood up looking at both Dorian and Fenris as if she was looking at two boys who had just broke a window in her brand new car, Varric carefully took a step back.

“Coming here I assumed I’ll be dealing with adults aware of the importance of what we’re dealing with, apparently I was wrong. So, Dorian, if you don’t start giving us your report this instant, rest assured I’m not willing to sacrifice even one more hour on this and neither will the Inquisitor,” she smoothed her tunic and sat down as she didn’t hear any objections. Dorian was close to asking her why _he_ was the only one being scolded, but in the end decided against it.

His work begun the minute he returned from Skyhold. The first months turned out to be a test of his character and determination as he realised that in order to open the dusty windows of Tevinter, he had to deal with his own first. It wasn’t only about going to parties not only just for his own amusement and at which he was worrying simply about being unnoticed or poisoned, playing pretend with people he despised (and yes, it was different than before, because this time it was _him_ who wanted something from _them_ ), or mastering his diplomatic skills. He knew that taking down slavery in Tevinter (he was laughing himself at the notion and how ludicrous it sounded for the first three months), would require connections, power and politics to all of which he didn’t have access to despite his charms and few techniques picked up from the Tal-Vashoths.

In order to get it before his hair turn grey, he had to come back home and talk to his father. So Dorian swallowed his hurt and pride and went to the Pavus residence playing the prodigal son. Obviously he wasn’t going to sacrifice himself on the altar of change, but he agreed to certain terms one of which was becoming a part of Tevinter’s society once again, meaning having a respectable position and occupation and not engaging in suspicious behaviour. In other words, Dorian had to be careful, once again, with whom he was meeting, what he was doing and what’s the probability if someone hears about it and who it may be. His father knew he couldn’t put him back to the closet as Dorian broke it into splinters and set it on fire when he left, but he could regain some control over his son’s personal life. As for the issue of slavery, Dorian thanked the Maker that his father understood business and cared for it and money more than he cared about the tradition. Oh, it was a beautiful concept as long it wasn’t causing him lose lucrative deals. Unfortunately, as slavery became bad for business, the love which dared not to speak its name had no impact whatsoever.

An unusual alliance was formed and as the son started an unofficial group not associated with any specific political circle to discuss the matter and spread the word, the father was testing the waters and gaining information in the Magisterium. When the news about some important politicians and even the Archon himself interested in their propositions came, the things finally caught speed. Dorian managed to gain ground the Inquisitor needed to engage. He was aware the real work has just began, but it was bloody time as it took him a more than a year to set up and Dorian was not a patient man. At first they planned to offer him an official support from the Inquisition and send some diplomatic help. The next step was to make sure of Archon’s backing and begin the negotiations on a higher level between the Archon and the Inquisitor.

Dorian was attacked when he was coming back from the university. The assailants left him with few bruises and a slightly wounded pride as he managed to scared them off. He and his father were receiving threats for more than couple of months already, but he never paid attention to them. He didn’t notify the Inquisitor about the incident. Felix did. And there they were. Him in his office, getting painfully and absolutely sober, covered in glitter with an elf from his dreams whose sole goal was apparently to murder him. Now he knew why so many people don’t do good things. As it turned out, it made everything bloody awkward.

Dorian made a mental note to himself that if he ever decides to help someone again, he’d better convince himself otherwise.

“So what exactly is your plan?” Fenris asked looking at Dorian doubtfully. He heard the man all right, though so far he knew they are going to slay the dragon, but still didn’t know anything about their strategy or how many men they had to do the job. The mage didn’t scowl this time, but quickly moved to his desk showing him papers and books scattered all over it.

“With this. We’re gaining ground everyday slowly passing bills that harm slavers, force the buyers to rethink their choices and treat better the slaves they already have. Tevinter is holding on to slavery like a boy to a mother’s dress afraid to go out and play with others,” Dorian started walking around his office gesticulating. “Of course, we’d rather die than admit that we’re not the cool kids anymore, so we start to be mean as a defence mechanism. I believe that this is what we need to change. If we convince the Magisterium that abolishing slavery means gaining power, not losing it, ending slavery once and for all will become simple paperwork.”

“Oh, so you’re actually doing to help mages,” Fenris grunted interrupting him. He was standing at the same spot so motionless, Dorian was getting slightly anxious. The mage stopped mid-step and looked straight at the elf.

“No. I do it, because it’s the right thing to do,” he answered firmly trying to read Fenris’ face. Felix shifted on the chaise longue leaning closer, elbows resting on his knees.

“I know how it sounds, but you must trust us on this. There were groups in Tevinter working on these matters for decades, but they never had the strength they needed in the Magisterium and the one with have right now,” the man said. Fenris couldn’t believe his own thoughts, but he found himself liking Felix. There was something genuine about the mage, his calming, reasonable voice and a stark contrast to Dorian’s presence beaming with confidence and restlessness.

“And an Inquisitor on their side, I may add,” Varric smiled feeling the atmosphere easing and becoming more invigorating than hostile. Dorian must have felt it too and to Cassandra’s and Varric’s dread, he came up close to Fenris. The elf immediately smelled the man’s perfume, but also saw his bright, stormy eyes from up close. There was no glitter or nonchalance in them.

“We need time though. _I_ need time,” Dorian said voice sure and steady. Fenris furrowed his brows not being able to feel the intrusive power he felt from the mage at the club any more. He did his best not to let the surprise show on his face when he realised that the man already noticed its influence and learned to control it. For Fenris’ sake.

“I can’t focus on politics and research and thinking about being assassinated at the same time. Although, what’s more important, we need your help to contact less… overt groups. Slaves or ex-slaves who would never allow a mage near them. You, on the hand, are an ex-slave, sorry for the lack of subtlety, and an elf.”

“I marvel at your perception skills, mage.”

“There are many other things in me you could marvel at,” Dorian replied, a tone lower, the smirk and a playful spark back in his gaze. Fenris’ markings flushed warningly a second before the mage moved back gracefully.

The world outside was turning less black, red and blue lights less vibrant shying from the approaching dawn. They could hear drunk shouts of people going home or roaming streets confused by the ending night, unwilling to face what was coming with the light or simply trying to find their way home carrying their friends or being carried. Felix stood up and looked out observing three students running around the square in front of the library and chasing light posts flicking one after the other.

Varric stood up and stretched his back. He wanted them all out of the building before the sun rises. A party of two mages, a human, a dwarf and an elf leaving the main Tevinter library together would make a good start for a joke and lay very solid grounds for a gossip of the season.

“So, Broody, what do you think?” he looked up at the elf.

“I’m thinking how to get this one home safe,” Fenris answered sceptically looking at Dorian now leaning on his desk and covering a yawn.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you so much for all kudos, it's really uplifting to see that someone is reading this. Feel free to share any thoughts :) Hope you're still enjoying this! <3

They decided to say their goodbyes inside not to attract too much attention. Cassandra and Varric offered to help Felix get back home safely as the man was already dozing off seating on a windowsill. Also, they both decided that entrusting Dorian to Fenris immediately would be a great test believing that if he passes walking Dorian after a night-out home, the rest will be a piece of cake. At their time at the Inquisition, they all had a fair share of walking the drunken mage safely to his quarters, unless he disappeared earlier during the night, then they knew him capable of finding a bed to stay.

Fenris hasn’t said a word since they left the room. Minrathous greeted them with a mixture of fresh, chilly breeze and hot air leaving the stones of the buildings. The elf breathed in smelling also the spilled wine and vomit and humid scent of trees and plants in full bloom. He preferred it over cautiously selected perfumes of the shops and allowed himself a few seconds of just standing outside and breathing. His head was pounding after what he heard. He was still far from feeling comfortable next to the mage, but he trusted Varric and Cassandra and the man himself surprised him more than twice in one evening. And every time Fenris was pleasantly surprised, he had to give him that.

The streets were still dark, most lights already out or slowly disappearing. It was the time when the night meets the day, when some wonder the streets to return home and some leave their warm beds to start the morning shift in bakeries, cafés and shops. It was also the best time to be invisible. People preoccupied with finding keys or their friends, receiving deliveries and rushing sleepily to work never noticed an elf passing them by.

“I live nearby, so we may just walk,” Dorian said looking around. He fixed his hair and moustache, then took off his jacket, flicked it firmly and put it back on.

***

Their silent walk back home was the first thing that came to his head when he opened his eyes. Dorian realised he was lying in his own bed and then immediately checked in what state. He winced seeing he was still in his clothes from last night. Although he survived nights far rougher than the last one, he felt completely drenched and overwhelmed. Being around Fenris required from him a tremendous amount of self-control and it wasn’t only about his magic.

Dorian sat up rubbing his face and reminiscing what happened. His head  was surprisingly fine, the events sobered him up enough to be just pleasantly tipsy at the time he, probably, got back. He clearly remembered how they walked together, him tired to the point he felt he was never going sleep again, oversensitive, painfully aware and doubtful about his surroundings at the same time. They were both silent, Fenris not being the most chatty type, Dorian too tired to push his luck and too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Now, in the bright light of what appeared like noon, he couldn’t discern what did actually happen and if his imagination was not playing tricks on him. Or maybe someone finally succeeded in poisoning him. The mage squeezed his eyes shut again to clear his head.

Then he remembered another thing from last night.

Dorian jumped out of bed as the images and words came back to him and ran to his living room. The sight of Fenris peacefully sleeping on his sofa didn’t help him re-establish his reality and reverie balance. The elf was snoring quietly covered with a grey, thickly knitted wool blanket. Dorian remembered himself convincing Fenris to stay, he remembered the elf’s frown and pouting, but he couldn’t recall his own arguments. Fenris shifted when a ray of sunshine reached his face and illuminated his ruffled white hair.

Even though Dorian could wonder about how surreal the situation was and stare at the elf for much longer, he had to make himself presentable before Fenris wakes up. Obviously, he usually looked glorious in the morning and he wouldn’t mind anyone seeing him like this, but he couldn’t remember when, despite his time with the Inquisition, was the last time he allowed himself to fall asleep fully clothed. What he also couldn’t remember was a time when a handsome man visited him and slept on his sofa instead of his bed. That morning, Dorian Pavus, trudging to his bathroom, could feel Tevinter changing, he deeply regretted that the change started in his own flat and was not in his favour so far.

***

Fenris woke up to the sounds coming from the kitchen. At first he thought someone broke into his flat, then, not recognising his surroundings, for a brief moment, he thought he was back in Kirkwall and just woke up from the worst nightmare. But their flat at Kirkwall didn’t smell like a mixture of fruits and spices Fenris couldn’t even name. The whole flat smelled like an expensive fabric with a hint of perfumes of a person who wore it every day. Last night the whole space was still dark and they were both too fed up to explore Dorian’s house and admire the design.

Fenris never gave importance to things that could be swept away too easily such as clothes, furniture or wealth, but that morning he felt like he woke up in a different dimension. He saw luxury all right, Danarius’ estate dripped with gold, marble and velvet. He also accompanied his master to many parties where he didn’t know where to put his eyes on stunned with lavishness of his surroundings. Dorian’s flat was a completely new, different level.

Fenris stood up feeling warm, dark wooden floor underneath his feet. He expected the man to live in a mansion similar to Danarius’, but the mage’s flat was spacious, not enormous being just a four rooms flat in the end. At first he wouldn’t say there were many colours, two, maybe three or four… It seemed like someone actually calculated the amount of each colour to be just enough to bring out the other one, emphasise a certain feature or complement a decorative vase or a painting. A deep purple of a ripe aubergine, vibrant, almost golden yellow, black dark as the night when it reached its peak, white of a fresh snow, fresh, full green of exotic leaves in the beginning of a summer and a crimson red of the best Orlesian wine. They all weren’t supposed to work together, but in the flat he slowly paced around they complemented each other visible on the curtains, vases, paintings, frames, furniture and tapestries.

Fenris could tell that even the smallest lightbulb was unreasonably expensive, but he’d rather have mages waste their fortunes on interior design than slaves. He also noticed there were no scenes depicting Imperium’s victories, just floral and ornamental patterns, some animals lurking behind huge palm leaves or birds colourful as flowers. His studio flat was white. After living with Danarius’, he wasn’t able to feel at ease surrounded by such abundance, but in Dorian’s flat there was harmony. It was quiet, peaceful, almost… welcoming.

What Fenris hasn’t spotted anywhere either were family pictures or portraits so many Tevinter families boasted about. He straightened his crumpled clothes and followed the sounds of someone cooking. A small corridor led to a spacious kitchen, now full of light catching at white, black veined marble countertops and walls. The elf stopped suddenly at the sight of Dorian with a pan in his hand skilfully flipping an omelette.

“Oh, there you are!” The mage smiled his gaze focused on the pan. “Take a sit, they’re almost ready.”

“But… You’re cooking?” Fenris saw many unimaginable things in his life and he’d have been less stunned by a high dragon cooking his breakfast.

Dorian turned to him with a spatula in his hand. “Well, can you see anyone else here? I thought I told you already that I don’t have slaves and, please, I’m awfully talented. Now, I’m sure I already mentioned _that_ , so preparing an omelette isn’t really a challenge for me.”

The mage would never admit how many eggs he burned or how many times he dropped the bloody thing on the floor before he mastered his perfect flip. Dorian put two plates on the table, next to two mugs already filled with steaming coffee.

Fenris expected him to be a languid magister, sleeping in or staying in bed until late afternoon, but it was actually _him_ who slept in, still undressed and not even in his own flat at noon. Dorian’s short laugh interrupted his train of thoughts.

“You look like there’s something bothering you profoundly,” he laughed sitting at the table.

“To be honest I haven’t decided yet,” Fenris confessed, moving like he was on a mine field. He nervously touched the back of his head. “Look, I really should be going, it’s quite late and I’ve a few things to deal with first, before we start working together,” he said brushing his white messy hair from his eyes.

 All this scenery started to become upsettingly familiar to him. He remembered mornings like this, filled with steaming, fresh coffee, cooking, setting the table to the sounds of morning talks and calming music coming from the radio. For a split second he saw Hawke complaining they ran out of tomatoes.

Dorian straightened on his chair and put down his mug. “Fenris, I know that we asked a lot of you yesterday, but this is just breakfast. I won’t keep you longer than that.”

Fenris looked at him, the mage’s attire impeccable, hair already coiffed, but this time he also saw a man alone in front of his meal in a huge kitchen. He was this man every day for more than a year now. He slowly joined Dorian wondering if this wasn’t one of the reasons masters kept slaves. Fenris noticed a quick smile that appeared on the mage’s face when he finally started to cut his omelette.

“So, what should we talk about now that we have a bit of time at the beginning of such a wonderful day?” Dorian started looking up at the elf. Fenris quickly dropped his gaze focused on the meal.

“I’d like to hear about the attack and death threats you mentioned yesterday,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I know that we were supposed to talk about the plan," Dorian huffed at that, so that's how he convinced him to stay.

“Varric warned me you’ll be a joy to be around.”

***

Fenris was the first to finish. He stood up immediately collecting dirty plates and cutlery from the table. His slave years well past him, he still felt uncomfortable being served or tended to. When a mage was doing this for him, he was truly lost.

“I’ll do the washing-up,” he offered taking an empty plate from Dorian. At first he thought Dorian would object, but the mage leaned against his chair sipping his coffee.

“Thank you, much appreciated, just leave them by the sink, I’ll dry them when I’m done” he replied breathing in the smell of coffee and enjoying himself in the warmth of the sun beams. When he glanced up at Fenris, he smiled at the elf’s expression. “I told you I don’t support slavery. Under any form. But I do value partnership. I wake up early and make breakfast so you can sleep longer and you clean afterwards so I can peacefully enjoy my first cup of coffee. This is what I want Tevinter to learn. Returning favours.”

“You want mages to be nice people, mage,” Fenris said putting the first clean plate at the countertop. “And how’s your coffee with all those antidotes?”

Dorian looked at him sideways, a smug smile on his lips. “When did I tell you I am planning to do it all today? Also, have I mentioned how exceptionally talented I am?”


	6. Chapter Six

Fenris barely dodged a quickly approaching punch and jumped back. The younger elf smiled confidently spotting his teacher’s mistake and attacked once more, before Fenris regained his stance. It was the first time that it was him who was being cornered and was forced to dodge one blow after another. He barely made it on time to conduct today’s class and was still trying to figure out how to reconcile having a life and fighting slavery with the Inquisition. “Cassandra and Varric are coming over for dinner tonight before they come back to Skyhold. You should come, Felix will join us.” Fenris felt how the young man’s fist found his face, when he was too busy playing over and over Dorian’s words stuck in his head.

“What’s on your mind, teach’?” the boy asked not even trying to hide a smug, proud smile. Fenris was massaging his jaw, thankful there was not much force in the punch. He glanced at the clock, he had only two hours left to the dinner and was already assuming he was going to be fashionably late.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today and listen up. I have an announcement to make!” he shouted. He walked past the young elf ruffling his hair as a sign of a praise for his performance, which was fat better than his own that afternoon.

Telling his students, even if there were only fifteen of them, that the studio will be temporarily closed wasn’t easy. He saw that many of them sought refuge here and waited for every class to learn skills they may need the very next day. The best thing he could offer them is reassuring them that they could always contact him or come if they needed anything. Fenris felt guilty when he looked at their faces. He only hoped that that bloody mage was worth it. Suspending his other classes would be much easier, he tried to cheer himself up on his way home.

After some time spent in front of his own wardrobe, wondering what he should wear to look decent but not trying too hard, and in the shop trying to remember that excellent wine Hawke always bought for their guests, he finally knocked on Dorian’s doors dressed exactly the same as the night before. This time he also wore a black jacket over his white t-shirt. Fenris didn’t want to admit even to himself why he chose the V-necked one that exposed more of his lyrium markings.

The host himself opened the door for him greeting Fenris with a smile and a slightly surprised expression. Dorian was dressed in black, only his jacket was richly embroidered with vibrant exotic flowers, peacocks and adorned with pearls. Fenris told himself off for thinking how good the mage looked, because he was wearing more than his monthly rent, for his flat _and_ studio. He simply nodded at Dorian in a way of greeting. Varric and Cassandra were already talking with Felix wine glasses in their hands.

Dorian thanked him for the wine and handed him one of the glasses.

“To make this easier,” he smiled and winked closing the door behind him. “Also, exquisite perfumes,” the mage remarked offhandedly passing him on his way back to the living room. Fenris took a quick swig of his wine feeling his cheeks turn pink.

His skin was tingling with anxiety, hands dry as if ready to grab a sword. He was listening to the conversation trying to calm down and cast away the nagging thought that something bad will happen. The world of friendly dinners, having guests and laughing was gone, he left it in Kirkwall and came back to the world where he knew how to be always on guard. The convivial atmosphere was making him uneasy, not that it wasn’t nice, but Fenris didn’t believe in _nice_ things in Tevinter.

Dorian and Felix were currently explaining what they managed to do so far and decided to go slightly more into legal details on Varric’s request. Cassandra inquired about their newest bills, their drafts and the Magisterium’s voting system. Fenris kept his silence concentrated on food politely listening and focusing to keep his hands steady when he was holding a glass. Dorian graciously refilled it twice by now. Fenris noticed that the man was not far behind him with his own drinks. Felix was just finishing his brief lecture on the relation between healing and cleaning spells, when Cassandra shifted a bit impatiently next to Fenris probably getting as much from the elaborate speech as he was. Their plates were almost empty by then. The aubergine rolls filled with walnuts sprinkled with pomegranate and coriander gone, Varric was just finishing his second portion of a duck glazed with honey and black currant chutney.

“Have you had a chance to discuss your plan and how you two are going to continue your mission now that Fenris joined us?” Cassandra asked looking at Dorian and Felix and then glancing at Fenris sitting at her right side. Fenris thanked her mentally for changing the subject.

“Not yet, but as you brought it up, we can discuss it now,” Dorian put down his glass and fixed his gaze on Fenris, but before he could continue, Fenris spoke for the first that evening.

“How safe is your house?”

“Safe, very safe. Felix and I saw to it personally that both our houses are impenetrable.”

Fenris huffed at that. “No such thing, but let’s carry on. Do you carry your staff anywhere with you?”

“No, do you think I can just freely…”

“All right. You were attacked on the street, do you then use any public transport?”

Dorian looked at him like he just offered him a petrified nug as another collectible. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d love to see _that_ ,” Felix cackled.

“Do _you_ use public transport?” Fenris asked immediately turning to Felix and when the man nodded, he said, “Don’t. I bet the two of you can easily afford a cab now and then. Never use the same company twice in a row, change as often as it is possible, but don’t keep a schedule,” the elf continued.

Varric gave Cassandra a pleased look, at which the Seeker nodded and hid her smile in her wine glass. They both will be much more at ease on their way back to Skyhold and finally had some good news for the Inquisitor. Fenris furrowed his brows thinking. Dorian’s gaze slipped for a second to the elf’s slim fingers playing with the wine glass stem and turning it around.

“No matter if we like it or not, it’d be best if I just be with you every time you go outside, unless you’re in a bigger group,” Fenris sighed looking at Dorian and Felix. “Also, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I must insist on you getting a staff permit to have it at all times with you. Both of you. You will have my number in case of emergency,” he said firmly, “and don’t even try using it when you need a ride back home when you’re drunk or don’t know what to wear,” the elf added quickly seeing Dorian’s mouth opening. The mage simply gaped at that visibly appalled, but not truly offended.

“I think, Fenris, that you and I will get along splendidly,” Felix laughed mimicking Dorian’s manner of speaking.

“Cassandra, don’t you, by any chance, have another elf to guard me?” the mage asked politely ignoring Felix and Fenris.

“Unfortunately, the only thing we can offer in exchange is a Qunari,” the Seeker said tone serious and stern.

Dorian visibly flinched. “Ugh, been there, done that, never again,” he sighed gaining a quick, surprised look from Fenris at which he just winked at the elf.

When Fenris put his glass down after taking another sip, Dorian smiled at him politely wanting to quickly change the subject. He stood up and, with one cautiously placed on his side not to get his jacket dirty, he leaned toward the elf to refill his glass. “If I remember correctly, I haven’t heard what you do, Fenris. Apart from saving the world and, hopefully, me, I mean,” he said sitting down after pouring more wine also for Cassandra and himself.

“Same thing as I did back in Kirkwall. I teach how to fight,” he replied surprisingly steadily. Varric smiled wickedly from his wine glass.

“And…,” he started not daring to look at Fenris.

“It’s mainly self-defence really, but the thought that they may use more… offensive skills against mages or slavers doesn’t keep me up at night,” the elf added obviously ignoring Varric’s input.

“I’m quite intrigued by the “and” part,” Dorian pressed raising his own glass, his gaze locked on Fenris’ face. Cassandra shifted in her seat next to Fenris, judging from the smile on her lips she knew precisely what Varric was talking about.

“I assure you there’s nothi-…”

“Fenris here also conducts dancing classes,” Varric blurted out grinning wildly at the elf. Dorian coughed almost spilling his wine on hearing the news. He looked at Fenris like he was seeing him for the first time. Judging by the blush that crept on the elf’s face Varric was telling the truth.

“It’s just like fighting, but without weapons and usually no one dies at the end,” Fenris explained quickly downing his wine. “And I’ve to make a living somehow. Better do it not teaching mages something that’s actually useful.”

It was the first time Fenris looked sincerely embarrassed. Dorian fell silent thoughts running through his head. When he finally spoke up, Fenris knew the mage was building the courage.

“Would you… mind showing us?” Fenris managed to hide a smile while he saw the look on the mage’s face. Sometimes the man wasn’t so difficult to ready after all. Maybe it was the wine, maybe he felt challenged and wanted to wipe that self-confident, hungry look from Dorian’s face.

“Actually, why not?” he answered baring his teeth in a smile.

He stood up looking at the mage, he took off his jacket and hung it on his chair slowly. But the moment Dorian moved slightly, just enough for Fenris to notice, pushing his chair away from the table, Fenris leaned forward and grabbed the carafe of water.

“On the other hand… This wine is truly exquisite, mage, and I’m afraid I might have had too much to give a decent performance”, he politely pouring himself a glass of water. He inclined his head courteously and sat down.

Dorian quickly faked he was just getting comfortable with his drink. “Oh, I completely understand. Then may I suggest we move to the more comfortable part of the room?” he smiled his best practiced Tevinter smile. The mage stood up, a glass in hand, and walked to the balcony to open the doors and let the summer night breeze in.

“Thank you for your understanding,” Fenris replied also standing up. Varric and Felix followed them immediately. Felix happily stretched and took a deep breath of the fresh air.

“Surprisingly, he terrifies me even more when he acts so… civil,” Varric whispered to Cassandra passing her, he handed her the glass. The Seeker didn’t say a word to that watching Felix join Fenris on the balcony and chatting to the elf. Varric took a bottle from the table and walked up to Dorian standing next to a record player. He wasn’t even pretending to be changing the music and not looking at Felix and Fenris talking. When the dwarf approached him, he held his glass up to him.

“You’re so going to get you heart ripped from your chest, Sparkler,” Varric murmured pouring his friend more wine. Dorian took a sip observing Felix pointing at Fenris markings, the inquisitive look of a researcher on his face. He couldn’t hear Fenris’ reply, the elf stretched his hand showing the man how the lyrium lit up. Felix’s brows went up, he said something at what Fenris smiled. The summer night wind played with Fenris white hair, tugging at his t-shirt tucked in front behind his trousers.

Dorian felt his chest getting warm, his fingertips tingling slightly. He’d love to blame it on the wine, it’d have been so much easier.­ He lowered his gaze a bit when the corners of his own lips went slightly up. Fenris showed him something far more interesting and far more precious than dancing. He saw the elf unveiling in front of him, showing him another side. A side Dorian found absolutely intriguing even if it cost him a bit of pride at dinner.

“You fell suspiciously silent, Sparkler,” Varric whispered from behind his glass.

“I’m contemplating how highly I value my heart,” Dorian answered too focused on the elf to notice Varric and Cassandra exchanging exasperated glances. Varric, on the other hand, was thinking that maybe they would’ve been better off sending a Qunari to watch over Dorian.


	7. Chapter Seven

Being a bodyguard of a Tevinter mage was surprisingly… uneventful. Fenris expected the job to include more fighting, more killing or at least more punching, but so far he spent more time on reading and commuting than facing the enemies of their cause. Dorian and Felix spent the majority of their time at Dorian’s flat, the Alexius’ mansion or the university’s library. They also attended meetings and gatherings, mostly favourable to their line of politics and friendly, as friendly as social gatherings went in Tevinter.

As Fenris couldn’t have been admitted to such parties, Dorian and Felix went on their own, their stomachs filled with all kinds of antidotes. They were still working on introducing Fenris to the magisterium’s high society, but it took time and multiple individual visits to magisters’ offices. Fenris’ fame and lyrium markings flashing every time he met a new powerful mage weren’t helping to soften his image of a notorious mage killer. Truth be told Fenris didn’t seem too concerned about it. Thus, he usually ended up picking them up and accompanying them both to their respective houses or to one of them if they still had matters to discuss.

To Fenris’ chagrin, Dorian and Felix decided to fill him in on their research, Tevinter laws and their projects. And they were _very_ thorough in their work. At some point, as the attempt on their lives never happened, Dorian started to give him all letters with death threats he was still receiving, but Fenris suspected that the mage treated it more like a reading exercise for Fenris rather than as a proper guarding task. From those letters Fenris quickly learned why and how much their enemies hated Dorian and he wasn’t surprised that the man stopped treating those threats seriously. They ranged from “the enemy of the Imperium”, “traitor” and “Inquisition’s whore” to “pomaded pansy”.

As a next vote in the magisterium was approaching, Dorian and Felix worked late, sometimes overnights, preparing and correcting two next bills their fathers were to propose. Fenris managed to convince Dorian not to sleep in his office at the library, but was surprised that he never had to drag him out of a club like the night they’ve met or discourage him from engaging in another highly irresponsible behaviour. In other words, he noticed, to his amazement, that Dorian wasn’t taking any unnecessary risks and that the man actually _worked_. And he worked hard. Fenris always saw him surrounded with books, papers, pens and notes scattered everywhere or in his hand.

The first time they asked him for his opinion, Fenris just looked at them not sure if they haven’t exerted themselves and lost their minds.

“You were a slave, Fenris. You know their situation and magisters’ tricks more than we do,” Felix explained giving him a copy of the bill they were working on. “We had a few setbacks already passing bills with which we didn’t accomplish anything as masters quickly found a way to go around a new law.”

Fenris straightened in his armchair taking the file from Felix. “Then no else could help you more than a real magister,” he replied flicking through the pages. “You’ll get my opinion if you want to hear it, but remember that I was _just_ a slave and you’ll be hearing only one of the sides.”

Felix looked at Dorian in a silent question, but the man only shook his head. The name of Halward Pavus was never brought up out loud in their conversations. Dorian referred to the man as “father” and mentioned him only when it was absolutely necessary. So far, Fenris’s met Dorian’s housekeeper, Norma, her son, and Dorian’s assistant, who turned out not to be his apprentice in the end. There was another touchy subject as Dorian seemed to be in favour of having an apprentice than an heir, but he hasn’t received his father’s final approval.

Dorian’s expression darkened, he was staring at an open book on his lap. The House Pavus still owned slaves, “not to appear to extremist” according to his father, but no matter what Dorian thought about his father he knew he’d never abuse his power over his slaves. Doing it to his son turned out to be enough for him.

“Then we need to find one,” he said finally.

***

It was the hottest day of the year and the whole city resembled an oven. It was covered in heat haze making everything seems blurry and unrealistic. People were walking closer to the walls to hide underneath shops’ sunshades, cafés in the arcades were full with guests desperate to drink something cool. Minrathous was filled with the sounds of ice clinking in tall glasses, low buzz of the air-conditioners and sighs of thousands of its inhabitants complaining about the weather.

Fenris, Dorian and Felix were safely installed in Dorian’s shaded flat, but none of them seemed conscious enough to work. Dorian was reclining on his sofa and fanning himself sending a cold breeze from his fingers from time to time to cool down.

Fenris was dealing with the heat slightly better than the mages, but didn’t seemed pleased he was forced by the weather to wear a loose, sleeveless tank top. Getting to Dorian’s flat in such clothes without getting noticed was impossible, although Dorian didn’t complain when he saw him, he himself only in thin trousers and silk jacket that looked more like a short nightgown to Fenris. Only Felix seemed to be dealing with the temperature with dignity, properly clothed, but maybe it was because the mage was more skilled with ice magic than Dorian.

They were close to admitting defeat for the day, when Dorian’s phone rang. The mage sighed heavily sprawling across the sofa to reach his phone. Fenris quickly averted his gazed at the display of mage’s naked, toned chest when the movement parted open the flaps of his jacket.

“Rilienius, how good to hear you!” Dorian answered cheerfully standing up immediately. Felix only rolled his eyes at the name. “Oh, of course I have time and yes, I was also thinking about you. Exactly, I couldn’t agree more, especially with the vote almost upon us and this dreadful weather…”

Fenris didn’t like the sound of that. “Who’s this?” He mouthed at Felix, but the mage shook his head visibly exasperated. There was a certain spring in Dorian’s step that wasn’t there before. Just fifteen minutes ago he complained about the hardships of walking to the kitchen to get some water.

“Eight seems just about right and yes, Orlesian will do, glad you remembered,” Dorian said smiling to the phone and hanged up.

“This is a bad idea, Dorian,” Felix started watching his friend carefully. The mage spun to face them.

“Don’t act like my father, Felix, it doesn’t suit you,” he said the cheerfulness gone from his tone, “You said it yourself. We need supporters, votes and a real magister, so there you go.” He disappeared in the kitchen and came back with an open bottle of wine.

“It may be a trap, Dorian, he may not be alone, but you will be,” Felix pressed. Fenris looked at both of them.

“You’re planning on going to meet this person alone? Without Felix?”

“Oh Maker forbid, I don’t need Felix assistance for _that_ ,” Dorian took a swig from the bottle. “Rilienius is an old friend of mine and he can be very generous to people he cares about. And he cares about me so all I need to do is to reignite the old fire. I’ve heard he’s already favourable to the cause, but clings to the old system because of his greed. As I said, I’ll gain us votes, supporters and an extremely greedy magister who’d learned all the tricks that were to be learned,” at that he triumphantly spread his arms not discouraged by frowns on their faces.

“This is a bad idea,” Fenris repeated after Felix feeling his stomach turning when he realised what was the official objective of Dorian’s visit.

“Nonsense. Felix, you focus on your family reunion, if something bad happens, which I’m sure it won’t, I’ll call Fenris to the rescue,” the mage was standing’ in front of one of the mirrors already fixing his hair and judging how good he looked that day. “Later I’ll let you know how it went. Now, excuse me, I need to get ready,” he took another bottle of wine from the stand and disappeared in his bedroom.

Fenris followed the mage with his gaze. Now he saw all too well what was hidden underneath the smile and bravado. If this was only about politics, currying favours and sacrificing himself for the cause, Fenris would be still against it, but less worried. What worried him the most was that when Dorian picked up that phone, the elf saw hope in his eyes. Hope and need held for far too long. Judging from Felix’ expression he was right to worry.

***

Fenris was supposed to meet Dorian outside Rilenius’ mansion at eleven, although at first Dorian didn’t want to hear any of it trying to convince Felix and Fenris that he’ll be just fine taking a cab back home. Felix dropped him on his way to his family’s mansion and Fenris arrived just a few minutes later. Dorian didn’t have to know about that, but the elf wasn’t going to let the mage wonder to some magister’s house and leave him there without any back-up. They agreed that Dorian would call him immediately if something suspicious happens.

When Fenris arrived it was getting dark already, the first lights were being lit up in the mansion and its vast gardens hidden by a tall hedge of cypresses. As he stood there, alone on a pavement next to the mansion, it hit him even harder how ridiculous and irresponsible the whole thing was. Even if he could break in, Dorian would be long dead before he could manage to reach him. Fenris cursed the bloody mage and sat down in a shade. He started throwing tiny rocks at the street to have his hands occupied.

Fenris spent three excruciating hours hating every minute of waiting and squeezing his phone in his hand when he ran out of rocks and pebbles. The day turned into a steamy night with merciless gusts of warm humid air that left tiny droplets on his arms. And there he was. Still sitting on the pavement in a dark corner created by the hedge only a few meters from the main gate. Fuming. Nauseous. Waiting.

***

The gate creaked precisely an hour before midnight. Fenris immediately sprung to his feet and walked there to see Dorian getting out. The mage looked unharmed, his head, arms and legs still in their respective places. Although his legs were a little wobbly, his step uneven. The elf came up to him quickly waving at the waiting cab to pick them up. He caught Dorian just in time before the mage fell staggering down the street.

“You’re completely wasted,” he grunted putting his arm around the man’s waist and hauling his arm around his neck for more support.

“Excuse me, my dear friend, but I am still standing,” Dorian smiled straightening as a proof. Fenris smelled wine and fresh shower on him. He cringed, his stomach turning once more, a weird burning sensation in his throat.

“You fool, you’re an easy prey in such a state. He could’ve easily done something to you,” the elf was doing his best not to scream at the mage. He opened the door of the cab, but Dorian took a step back freeing himself from Fenris.

“Well, yes, he did, but I assure you it wasn’t unwelcomed,” the mage pointed out his lips quirking up in a smile. Fenris didn’t know why this only infuriated him even more, he felt sick, he wanted to grab the man and shake him with all his force. And then set the mansion behind them on fire.

Dorian took a step forward and leaned against him, a hand on his arm. “I gained us three votes,” he whispered triumphantly. His face was suddenly very close to Fenris’. He smiled drunk and proud waiting for a praise.

“That’s fucking amazing, get in,” Fenris growled pushing the mage inside the car not even remotely trying to be gentle about it. A pained wince that came from inside cheered him up a bit and helped him get rid of an image of Dorian’s flushed face from his head. When he joined the mage, he gave the driver Dorian’s address and leaned back looking outside, fuming.

“Fenris,” Dorian started with a serious voice which sounded comical given he was audibly drunk. “I see that you’re angry with me. I got us three votes and an avid supporter, what’s wrong with that?”

“He might have as well killed you and if you die, Felix will force _me_ to read all those dusty boring books with him,” he answered not looking at the man next to him.

He would never tell him that apart from being worried and bored for the last three hours, he couldn’t stand the thought of what was going on just a few meters away from him. It brought back his worst memories and woke something else in him that made his insides twist and turn into tight nots.

Dorian huffed a laugh at that. “Yes, he probably would,” the mage admitted, his euphoria slowly dying out.

He leaned his head against the seat’s headrest. It was dark inside the car, their faces illuminated only by the traffic lights and other cars passing them. Thankfully, the driver preferred silence and graciously didn’t try to make a conversation. Fenris glanced at Dorian and then at a note he was clutching in his hand. The mage caught him looking before he could say a word.

“Oh, this, my dear Fenris, is a wedding invitation,” he said looking out the window and easing his grip on the thin paper. “That’s why he called me today. To give me this and ‘thank me for all the fun we’ve had.’”

Fenris didn’t know what to say to him, they all knew this was precisely what was going to happen.

He looked at Dorian, all the cheerfulness and triumph gone. He had a stern look on his face similar to the one when they were working and Fenris was pointing out the mistakes in their way of thinking and telling them why certain points in their bills won’t work. Only this time there was more sadness and tiredness than rage and hurt pride. Looking at the mage, Fenris suddenly realised he had no idea how Dorian must have felt at the moment. He had more than a fair share of hurt, yes, but then he loved and he was loved back.

“Ha, look at me, living up to my fame of the harlot of the Inquisition,” Dorian said trying to add some cheerfulness to his voice.

“Don’t wallow, it doesn’t suit you,” Fenris furrowed his brows and then took the invitation from the mage. He smoothed the paper, corrected the edges and leaned towards the mage to hide the envelope safely in the pocket of Dorian’s jacket.

“You will go to this wedding and you will never let this man touch you again,” he said decisively and then the car stopped as they arrived outside Dorian’s flat.

Fenris got off first not letting Dorian say a word or question him in any way. The elf went to the other side to help the staggering man get off and walked him in silence to his flat. The man was heavier than he looked. On their way they bumped into several walls trying to balance their weights and steps.

When he finally managed to get Dorian to bed, Fenris was heaving, his top sticking to his back.

“Maker, you’re heavy,” Fenris sighed wiping his forehead. Dorian flopped on the bed, the fresh air and the ride apparently only worsened his state.

“It’s not nice of you, Fenris, calling a heavily in-inebriated friend fat,” the mage complained trying to stand up and shrug off his jacket. Fenris decided not to comment on that and came to help him. When he took the mage’s jacket off, he pushed him by the shoulders to sit and then got him to lay down. Dorian was surprisingly complacent although he was muttering something about sleeping in clothes. Fenris sat down next to him to cover him with a thin duvet.

“Fenris, will you teach me how to dance?” Dorian whispered sleepily, when the elf was leaning over him to grab an extra pillow.

“I’d rather teach you how to fight, mage” Fenris answered sternly putting the pillow underneath Dorian’s head and looking at him. He stood up. “I’ll put a basket next to your bed in case you throw up,” he said taking a waste basket from underneath a dressing table.

“I do not vomit,” Dorian winced visibly appalled.

“Of course you don’t,” Fenris sighed and clutched his fist to stop himself from brushing the mage’s mussed hair away from his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos! I still feel like I'm walking on a thin ice sometimes when writing, so all your appreciation is a huge boost for me and a sign that I hopefully portray our precious Vints truthfully. They don't always do what I want them to, but I guess it's all right to give them more freedom.  
> Have I mentioned it's a slow burn? Hope you're still there, enjoy!


	8. Chapter Eight

Dorian sat up abruptly when the first cry reached his bedroom. It came from his living room. Then he heard the next one. And then came the silence. At first he realised he was only in his underwear, his shirt on the floor and trousers kicked down the bed. His bedroom was dark. He thought that someone broke in, but there was no sight of an intruder, no sounds of someone breaking in or trying to destroy his guarding spells.

His drunk mind was probably playing tricks on him. Then he heard the cries again. When he could distinguish separate words, fear sobered him up completely in an instant. When he recognised the voice and heard it scream in sheer horror, it made his blood freeze.

Dorian jumped out of bed putting on his nightgown in a hurry. He grabbed his staff from the closet, just in case, and sprang to his living room. When he burst into the living room his fingers were already sparking with magic ready to use, but died out at the sight of Fenris thrashing on the sofa. He was covered in cold sweat, muttering to himself and letting out short cries of pain. Dorian froze where he stood realising Fenris was still asleep.

“Fenris,” he said cautiously approaching the heaving elf. He left his staff on the floor.

Fenris curled and pressed his body against the back of the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut. Dorian felt his stomach crump at the elf’s words. He wanted to help him, but wasn’t sure what he should do. Fenris winced in pain and turned to the other side, his chest going up and down rapidly, his fingers digging in the soft fabric.

“Fenris, wake up.”

Even if Fenris was dreaming, the pain was more than real. He was struggling, trying to break free with all his power and failing with every cry. Dorian wished he had someone to wake _him_ up from nightmares he was having. Touching the elf probably wasn’t the smartest move, but he couldn’t just watch him suffer.

“Fenris.”

Dorian slowly crouched down next to the sofa. He was probably going to lose a limb or a heart and would deeply regret this, but in the end he took a deep breath, apologised to Felix for his recklessness and reached for Fenris to touch his arm.

“Don’t!” Fenris cried out and woke up sitting up straight and opening his eyes. Dorian almost fell backing away as quickly as possible. In his mind, he already saw Fenris’ blue, phased hand diving in his chest.

“Fenris, it’s… it’s all right, you had a bad dream,” Dorian whispered gently reaching out again to Fenris, but the elf flinched as if his touch burned him.

He blinked at Dorian, tears in his eyes shone bright in the cold light of the night coming from high windows. His heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn’t stop shaking, shivers going through his body in waves. Fenris looked straight at the mage disoriented, not recognising him at first. He gripped a blanket in his trembling hand. In his head he was still there, being beaten and drugged by the hair, fighting to set himself free. He could feel the pain in his nails scratching the wooden floor for support, splinters hurting his fingers, getting underneath his skin.

“Fenris, it’s all right,” Dorian repeated seeing the elf shivering still deep in his nightmare.

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut clutching his hair. Then he was again reduced to pain and praying to slip into oblivion. He shook his head. Darkness was the only thing he saw when he patted around with his trembling hands, not recognising his surroundings, afraid that it’s not over, not able to find Hawke, waiting to hear again that he’s dead and others are coming to get him, bring him back to his master. He didn’t know where he was and was afraid to find out the truth. Recently, the truth wasn’t very merciful for him.

“Fenris,” a voice that sounded warm and soft reached his ears, “It’s over, you have to wake up,” Dorian extended an open hand, but didn’t touch him.

Fenris opened his eyes again and looked at the man as if he saw him for the first time in his life. He saw an open hand, dark messy hair and eyes filled with worry, but not afraid. The person in front of him wasn’t scared of the feral wolf, another idiot ready to lose a limb.

Dorian swallowed a lump raising in his throat. He wasn’t sure Fenris recognised him as even he himself couldn’t find Fenris in those unsure eyes looking back at him. He dared to touch his arm once more when he saw a glimpse of trust and recognition.

“See? It’s me, Dorian. You’re safe, I’m here with you, it was just a bad…” he repeated slowly, but his words were cut short by the weight of Fenris body.

So this is it, he thought, he brought it upon himself. This gorgeous creature was going to kill him then and there and he wouldn’t have even blamed him for that. You’ll never learn, Dorian Pavus, he sighed at himself and closed his eyes.

Instead Dorian felt the elf’s lean, strong body press against him, he felt Fenris tremble, his fingers tightening at a soft fabric of the nightgown on his back. At first he froze looking down at Fenris quivering frame, his face hidden in his chest. Dorian did his best to calm his pounding heart and embraced the elf gently stroking his soft white hair. When Fenris didn’t back away, he held him closer and closed his eyes.

“It’s all right,” he whispered relieved and tired feeling the elf’s shivers were running out, his heart slowing down. He felt Fenris’ even, warm breath on the skin of his neck. Dorian looked at Fenris once more thinking how fragile the elf looked now, he never noticed that Fenris was actually smaller and leaner.  

Fragile, but not weak, Dorian smiled to himself. “We’re utterly broken, aren’t we?” he said softly joking, because there they were, a Tevinter pariah developing a severe hangover fighting for justice in a godless place and an ex-slave haunted by nightmares constantly running from his past. He patted him gently on the back, now Fenris only leaning against him, his breath and body steady.

It was Dorian who decided he should move away. Before it was too difficult to. Fenris wiped his face with the back of his hand and sat back on the sofa. He didn’t look at the mage crouching in front of him.

“I’m sorry for this, that was really… embarrassing,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He took a deep breath. “I’m all right now, you should go back to bed,” he added avoiding Dorian’s eyes. “And I… I… I’ll go back to my place.”

“Nonsense. Sun will rise in few hours and we both need some sleep,” Dorian stood up fixing his nightgown and tightening the belt around his waist.

He lit up one of the lamps with a flick of his fingers and went to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and a book. Fenris followed him with his gaze not able to believe his own eyes when the mage settled next to him on the right hand of the sofa. Dorian gave him a glass of water and made himself comfortable with a book. Fenris was readying himself for being flooded with questions, but none came. Dorian turned a page in his book.

“Are you really going to read right now? It’s four in the morning,” Fenris said after emptying the glass. He glanced at the mage.

“Mhm,” Dorian hummed in response not looking at Fenris. “You don’t expect me to peacefully go back to sleep after having such a glorious body pressed to mine just a few minutes ago,”

“You’re impossible,” the elf rolled his eyes and eventually decided to lay down.

Dorian’s reaction puzzled him. He felt his cheeks burn at the realisation for whose sake Dorian decided to spent the rest of the night awake. Fenris glanced at him quickly before settling down. It was the first time he saw Dorian’s hair not coiffed into an immaculate hairstyle and he smiled to himself seeing a few locks of hair turning sideways.

“You forgot to add devastatingly handsome,” the mage added from behind his book turning a page.

Fenris covered himself with a blanket and closed his eyes. He was listening to the mage’s even breath, the sound of pages being turned, his fingers against the firm paper. He turned his back to Dorian and the light.

“Dorian.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not a harlot,” Fenris whispered softly to the back of the sofa.

“Well, thank you, Fenris,” even if he couldn’t see him, he could hear the mage smiling. He turned another page in silence.

“You can read it out aloud, mage,” Fenris murmured wrapping himself up in a blanket. Dorian looked at the top of the white head sticking from it and smiled to himself before starting.

***

The morning greeted him with waves of heat and soft wafts of air drifting through his hair at the back of his head. Fenris slowly opened his eyes drifting back to the reality. The memories of the last night were coming back to him when he sat up slowly rubbing his eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he slept through the night after having that nightmare. Usually he wasn’t able to go back to sleep and sat at the mattress at his flat waiting for the day to come. The elf turned back looking for Dorian and quickly realised that the warmth he felt was coming from the mage’s body asleep on the sofa, the book still in his lap. Fenris sighed hiding his head in his arms, before he dared to steal another look at Dorian.

He was at loss with this man. Dorian was vain, boastful and self-centred, but for the last two weeks Fenris also saw him working late with dark circles underneath his eyes, forgetting to eat or get enough air, saw his passion and stubbornness, the care with which he treated Felix and… him. He saw the fancy Dorian coiffing his hair for hours in front of the mirror and the brilliant, witty Altus Pavus studying the most challenging questions of modern magic and the meanders of the Tevinter law.

It all didn’t add up. Dorian was a Tevinter mage and wasn’t at the same time. His love of magic, beautiful fripperies, parties and intrigues was unquestionable, the man actually boasted about it being proud to be born Tevinter. A man not caring about his homeland wouldn’t get this heated over its issues. But it was the same homeland that oppressed _him_ , that forced him to buckle down and adjust. Fenris couldn’t understand why Dorian wasn’t fighting for himself, for his rights, why he didn’t put all this energy into freeing himself from the norms of his society that were making him miserable. He chose to fight for slaves he didn’t have.

Fenris knew that if things were different, he would’ve killed him on the spot regardless of his good looks, stunning physique, and political opinions. Especially as there was another thing bothering him since the night they met.

Sometimes, when looking at the mage, he wasn’t seeing a person, but a power, radiating from him, a force kept on leash, caged and thrashing inside. And Fenris knew better than anyone else that everyone has a breaking point.

The elf furrowed his brows. The man didn’t add up, he repeated to himself raising his gaze to look at Dorian. The mage sighed sleepily turning to press his face against one of the pillows. The events of last night came back to Fenris and with them the feeling of Dorian’s strong arms embracing him, keeping him safe. He would never have thought he would find the cadence of his voice calming, soothing. He should have despised the man, but couldn’t bring himself to, at least not anymore and it wasn’t just because of the last night. Because he didn’t ask.

Fenris knew all too well that if it hasn’t been for Dorian’s providence and profession, their relations would have turned in a completely different direction. He was ready to admit to himself he found the man incredibly attractive, that there was a peculiar force drawing him to the mage, but it was Dorian’s tenderness and mind that totally disarmed him.

“Are you done admiring me so I can wake up?” a raspy, deep voice broke his train of thoughts. Dorian was laying comfortably with his eyes wide open, he smoothed his moustache before the elf managed to answer. He didn’t bother to fix his richly embroidered nightgown to cover himself. Fenris felt the heat rising to his cheeks and quickly returned his gaze standing up.

“I kept seeing peacocks on everything you wear, is it in your family’s crest?” Fenris asked innocently taking a quick look at the mage.

Dorian’s lip quirked in a smile. He stretched languidly, before getting of the sofa. “Oh, so that’s why you were staring at me. Since when you’re so interested in fashion?” He stopped just behind Fenris, the elf could feel the mage’s hand hovering over his arm, but eventually Dorian backed away.

“You probably would like to have a shower, feel free to use white towels in the bathroom,” he said walking past Fenris and fixing his nightgown on his way to the kitchen.

He took a deep breath when he heard Fenris closing the bathroom door behind him.

Oh Maker, Dorian Pavus, you’re such a fool, he sighed at himself leaning against the countertop, cold marble hard underneath his hands. He barely controlled himself not to reach out for the elf, not to touch his lean, muscled arms, warm, olive skin covered with bright lyrium lines singing to him. Dorian used all his strength to steer himself away from an open bottle of wine still in the fridge. Flirting was one thing, admiring the elf from afar another, but touching him when he obviously didn’t want it, using his moment of weakness to get closer to him was abhorrent. Especially after the nightmare he had, nightmare he had to deal with because of people like Dorian, his own countrymen.

The mage thumped his fist against the cold stone and quickly focused on preparing a coffee. The memory of his night with Rilienius, drank wine and the invitation still in his pocket didn’t help. Dorian cringed at the thought of that tiny envelope waiting for him. The goodbye kiss and a soft whisper felt more like a slap now. “Fun”.

“Dorian? Are you all right?” the question came from behind. Fenris was standing in the door frame drying his hair with a towel, still slightly wet, but thankfully fully dress. Maybe there was a higher power after all.

Dorian realised he was standing gripping the countertop, his knuckles white. The elf took a step in his direction.

“Don’t, everything’s in order, there’s nothing you should be worrying about,” he managed backing away. “Could you please pour the coffee for us? I’ll be right back,” he added passing him hastily and disappeared in his bedroom.

Fenris turned around utterly confused. Was it just him or did Dorian just run away from him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I was very nervous about this one as I'm not sure if it's not... too soon? I deleted this chapter and then pasted it back many times, but in the end decided to leave it, hopefully it works out for the best.


	9. Chapter Nine

Felix found the flat silent. No morning radio or music, no noises coming from the kitchen or the bathroom. He let himself in when no one came to open the door. At first his heart skipped a bit at the thought that something bad had happened at Rilienius’. Then he heard a sound of a mug being put down on a table and a rustle of pages being turned. He found Fenris sitting in the kitchen and reading a newspaper with his brows furrowed like the thing gravely offended him.

“Where’s Dorian?” he asked the elf looking around as if his friend might have been hiding somewhere. Fenris didn’t seem surprised with his presence, he probably heard him and recognised his footsteps or something, the mage thought to himself. Felix was slowly getting used to the elf’s peculiar abilities.

“He’s probably getting ready,” Fenris answered calmly.

Felix eyed the elf carefully, but judging from his stoic behaviour he assumed nothing bad had happened and Dorian was simply incredibly hangover.

When he knocked on his friend’s bedroom door and didn’t hear a sound, he decided to take a peak just to check if he’s alive and hopefully not sleeping on the floor. To his surprise Dorian was sitting on his bed, still in his nightgown with head in his hands. He looked up quickly at the sound of the closing doors.

“Oh, it’s you,” he sighed standing up visible relieved. Felix’s confusion rose with every passing minute.

“Dorian, what’s going on? Did something happen?” he asked approaching his friend to check on him, but Dorian only huffed at the concern in his voice. He gestured at the doors.

“I can’t handle this, Felix. I’ve thought I’m better than this, but I’m not,” he whispered finally. It took a moment for Felix to understand what Dorian was talking about.

“You mean Fenris? What on earth did he do to you?”

Of course Felix knew about Dorian’s “little” obsession with the elf. Ever since the party Dorian was researching his case, following news, articles and all publications concerning Fenris. He tried to convince everyone it was just for scientific purposes, but Felix wasn’t blind and remembered the way his friend looked at the elf at that party. To be honest, he thought that Fenris was just Dorian’s teenage crush and didn’t pay it much attention. At least not until his friend came to him the following day and announced he was going to fight slavery.

None of his friends were actually doing what they planned to do when they were sixteen, except for Dorian Pavus.

A sigh at his question was enough for Felix to understand. He rubbed the back of his neck thinking what he could say to cheer Dorian up, but found himself at loss for words.

“Dorian, I’m pretty sure you can handle this. You're the fearless Tevinter mage who saved the world,” Felix said crossing his arms.

Dorian barked a short laugh at that. “Who is now afraid to face an elf sitting in his kitchen."

"Well, he can be terrifying," Felix smiled shrugging. When he saw a smile on Dorian’s face and felt that crisis has been resolved, he remembered why he wanted to see his friend in the first place. At the sole thought he smiled even wider.

“And I have some fantastic news for you, my friend,” Felix announced, pride in his tone. He walked up to Dorian and put his hands on his arms. “This morning I received a message that the Archon himself wants to see you and Fenris.”

Dorian paled in an instant and took a step back. “The _Archon_ wants to see _me_ and it’s not the first thing you tell me?!” he gasped staring at Felix.

“Well, if you hadn’t have your little morning drama, I’d probably have…” Dorian grasped him by the arms, sparks in his eyes.

“When does he want to meet?” he asked hotly.

“Today, at five…” Felix answered surprised by the sudden mood change. Dorian’s eyes grew big, he glanced at the clock. He wasn’t even in the middle of his morning routine!

“But it’s almost twelve alre-… Fenris!” Dorian took another step back and almost ran to the kitchen only to nearly bump into the elf on his way to the living room.

He caught him without thinking and cupped Fenris’ face with hands.

“Get ready, the Archon wants to meet us,” he said glowing with excitement, only millimetres separating his face from the elf’s. Before Fenris could react to that, the mage let him go and stormed passed Felix on the way back to his room, untied nightgown flapping behind him.

Watching him go, Fenris realised he never saw Dorian actually running or even moving at a slightly faster speed. Surprisingly, he found the sight quite entertaining. Felix stared back at his disappearing friend.

Fenris, seemingly unmoved, looked him in the eyes. “You, humans, are insane.”

***

The shirt Dorian picked for him scratched his nape. In their haste to prepare for the meeting in terms of substance and appearance, he forgot to cut the label off and now was gravely regretting it. Walking the corridors of the vipers’ nest, as he regarded the Archon’s seat, brimming with powerful magic, his lyrium markings pulling at his skin and making him wince every now and then, he’d have greatly appreciated clothes not adding to his general discomfort.

Dorian next to him was a walking mixture of stress, excitement and joy, although he was hiding it splendidly dressed in his house colours, arms bare in the Tevinter official attire of a close fitted vest with a stand-up collar, hair perfectly coiffed, an elegant black briefcase in his hand.

He expected Dorian to give him a lecture on Tevinter’s etiquette, but was again surprised when the mage deemed it unnecessary. Fenris was a Tevinter regardless if he wanted it or not, and was regarded as such.

The building they were in was enormous, towering over the whole neighbourhood, built with warm grey sandstone and adorned with two clock towers, one showing the time, the other one with an astrological clock showing the current positions of the planets and major stars.

Fenris tried to keep track of the turns they took on their way. They could hear their every step in the corridor as the floor was covered with marble decorated at intersections with mosaics depicting the Imperium’s greatest battles and achievements. Walls thickly covered with velvet or long tapestries muffled the sounds making them audible, but not letting them echo or resonate inside.

Stern, eccentric, sombre faces of magisters seemed to be watching them pass from their ornamented frames. The higher they got, the fewer people they’ve met. At some point it was just them and their silent guide, although Fenris still felt they were being watched. Dorian looked back at him when they were standing in front of the doors leading to the Archon’s office. Fenris nodded and Dorian gestured for the steward to let them in.

The Archon stood up when they entered and came up to greet them. He was a tall, handsome man with a piercing gaze of someone who never faltered on his way up the social ladder.

“Lord Dorian Pavus, Fenris, thank you for accepting my invitation,” he spoke gesturing for them to sit before going back to his chair behind an imposing desk. Its mahogany desktop  was supported by two lions made of black marble.

“The pleasure is ours, Your Magnificence,” Dorian replied inclining his head and bowing slightly. Fenris limited himself to a short nod.

The room smelled like a library, dust and old books, but there was a strong aroma of sandalwood mixed with citruses. Whole interior was a bit too grim and majestic for Fenris’ taste. It screamed with power and imperialism – old maps hanging on the walls, the floor covered with a carpet with the Imperium’s heraldry embroidered on it. One would have thought they would be over it by now, but traditions died harder in Tevinter.

They sat down in tall, uncomfortable chairs. Fenris felt as if shackles could appear on their wrists by any moment. He also felt the Archon’s gaze on him or rather on his markings, now barely visible. There were no slaves to be seen, all probably reassigned to other duties not to upset “the mad lyrium elf”.

“I invited you both here as I think we have a few matters to discuss. Your latest work has been brought to my attention and I must admit it did spark my interest, Altus Pavus,” the Archon leaned against his chair watching them carefully. “I’ve thought that I’d better get my information from the source, so I’d appreciate you sharing some more details with me.”

Dorian shifted next to Fenris, his hands clasping the briefcase so tight that his knuckles turned white. He started opening it, when Fenris put his hand on his stopping him, his gaze fixed on the Archon.

“And why would the Archon be interested in this _work_? You know exactly what we’re working on and you’re the one in position to actually change the law. Why would you be interested in the details? The matter is pretty straightforward,” Fenris said calmly feeling.

Dorian was staring at him petrified. They prepared all the necessary paperwork to present to the Archon, they discussed what they were going to tell him, but Dorian and Felix regarded him accordingly to his position. For Fenris it was another Tevinter mage put in a higher chair than others. Only more reasons to be wary.

The Archon smiled at his question, inclined his head and put his hands together in a thoughtful gesture.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Fenris, and I would like to apologise for what you suffered at the hands of our countrymen,” he started slowly looking up at the elf. “I must admit you’re not quite what I expected you to be.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Fenris retorted coldly.

“Oh, on the contrary. I’ve also heard about your deeds at Kirkwall at the side of the Champion. Please accept my deepest condolences, the news about his heroic death resonated quite strongly among Tevinter society,” the Archon continued in the same tone.

Fenris’ blood ran cold at the mention of Hawke, he boiled internally in an instant and had to focus his gaze on the rays of the afternoon sunshine pouring through the stained glass window behind the man.

“From what I know, he died on duty saving lives,” the elf looked the mage in the eyes, the Archon knew he was holding a knife in his heart and he twisted it.

"No, he didn't, sir. He was killed in a car accident, a hit and run as they say," Fenris said plainly, his voice emotionless. Dorian looked at him again shocked, he hasn’t heard that version of the events.

It was no surprise that Garrett Hawke’s death was a big story in the press. “The Fall of the Champion” was all over the news, paraphrased in every possible way. Dorian kept seeing the man’s face for more than a week on the front page of every newspaper.

It was reported that the Champion died saving six lives during one of his patrols when he and his partner happened to find themselves in the middle of a hostage situation at one of the diners in the suburbs. Hawke was stabbed to death during his attempt to fight the attacker to enable the others to escape. Dorian read witness’ reports, interviews with the partner, the chief of his station, colleagues. Everyone told the same story, no one ever mentioned a car accident. Dorian looked at Fenris. The elf was stiffened, but painfully and chillingly composed.

"Oh, really? Forgive me for prying, but weren't the two of you together? Some people may say you want to belittle his memory," the Archon said slowly stretching the vowels slightly. “Such a… meaningless death does not befit such a legend.”

"With all due respect, sir, but Hawke was a good and honest man and he would never have taken credit for something he hadn't done. And, in my opinion, he's done enough in his life to be worthy of the title people address him with regardless of the way he died,” Fenris replied his jaw tight, but doing his best to sound calm.

“There’s no such thing as a meaningless death, sir, death is death,” the way Fenris uttered the last words sent cold shivers down Dorian spine. He knew that if they were out in the open, the Archon might have been already left without a heart. The room turned suddenly cold and Dorian started to doubt they’ve met to discuss politics or legal issues at all.

“Of course, you’re right, Fenris, apologies for this insensitivity,” the Archon conceded to Dorian’s relief. If it were up to Fenris, he’d gladly killed the man then and there. “But let’s go back to your question. I am indeed in the position to impose change and alter our laws, however, as you probably noticed already, we care deeply about our traditions in Tevinter. Be it splendid balls, exquisite wine, magic or slavery. I simply can’t take this away from my fellow countrymen and we all know that reason and economic arguments almost never work well with politics,” he moved and leaned in their direction.

“I wanted to meet you, because you, Lord Pavus, are doing what I needed to be done. I’m favourable to your cause as I want Tevinter to thrive and we are not able to do that with other countries ostracising us, because of our views on slavery. We simply can’t afford that. Therefore, I’m truly grateful for your work and the way you handle things. Carefully, smartly, step by step. Very smart, indeed. Until the last vote on the main issue.”

“Thank you, Your Magnificence,” Dorian replied, colours returning to his face. “It’s a truly high praise hearing these words from you, but I must admit that the last vote is our main concern,” and may not happen in the next twenty years, he added to himself observing the man. He closed the folder he was holding, but didn’t put it away.

“I’m not surprised. I cannot support you publicly, at least not yet when things are still very unstable. You’re gaining speed, but you’re not so popular, again, yet,” the Archon smiled slightly.

Here was the man afraid to lose his power, Dorian thought looking at the mage closely. They were all playing a dangerous game in which some of them had more to lose than others. Archons were assassinated or removed from their position for lesser things than attempting to destroy one of the Imperium’s pillars. According to their original plan, they weren’t supposed to meet with the man at such an early stage, but only after gaining enough supporters to be able to ask for his official blessing. Dorian was fully aware that it was too early for that.

“Your Magnificence, having you at our side, even unofficially, means a lot and be sure it will only motivate us to further work,” Dorian said politely.

“Meanwhile, I would like to introduce you to some of our smaller bills that we want to put to vote,” at that he opened the folder and took some of the neatly stapled papers to give them to the Archon.

“Having your open support on them would allow us to move to more important projects of which I would gladly inform you as soon as we prepare the first drafts,” Dorian added. They had their drafts already prepared, locked safely in Dorian’s desk. Fenris saw them just that morning when they were discussing what to bring to the Archon.

The man took the papers from Dorian, flicked through them and put them down next to him.

“Thank you, I’d gladly look into this. Also,” he reached into a drawer making Fenris stiffen and ready to fight in case the events took a wrong turn.

The Archon retrieved three envelopes. “I would like to invite you to this year’s Imperial Gala. Treat it as my silent contribution to your cause and an occasion to gain more supporters,” he said handling them the envelopes. The third one was addressed to Felix. Their names were written down with an elegant handwriting in black, shimmering ink. For Fenris, seeing his name like this on a smooth, expensive piece of paper, especially not preceded by any title, was a peculiar, quite surreal experience.

At that the Archon stood up signalling the end of their visit. They both immediately sprung up from their seats, Dorian barely hiding his excitement.

“Thank you, Your Magnificence, I dare say that charm and balls are one of our favourite areas of expertise. You will not be disappointed,” he said straightening up proudly. Fenris couldn’t help himself from secretly rolling his eyes at that.


	10. Chapter Ten

The smell of a late summer afternoon was exceptionally sweet that day. The air vibrated around him with scents, sounds and colours since they left the Archon’s office. Dorian felt the envelope safely hidden in a pocket of his vest, close to his heart. It was a great improvement from the last one he received. This one he could actually enjoy, this one was a victory.

At the sound of white gravel crisping underneath Felix’s footstep, he quickened the paced to close the distance separating them from his friend waiting at the square in front of the Magisterium’s main office. One look was enough for Felix to tell how well the meeting went. He ran up to them himself, smile spreading across his lips. The passers-by gave them quizzical looks when Dorian hugged Felix in the middle and let the friend lift him up. As they couldn’t scream their lungs out and expressing positive emotions in such open fashion was unheard of, it was the best they could do before they let go of themselves, Dorian’s eyes glistening with excitement.

“We have his support, Felix,” he whispered visibly moved grabbing his friend’s arms. “And…” a smug smile appeared on his face when he retrieved the invitation for Felix. “You, my friend, have something you can impress your lady with.”

Felix gawked at the realisation what Dorian is showing him. Fenris couldn’t help a smile while looking at the pair rejoicing like two schoolboys who just won a game against the most hated team.

“We have only three days so we have to plan everything and prepare carefully. First, the antidotes, for three of us, four if you’re taking Livia, then the strategy for the evening, then there are always questions of…” Dorian started pacing scaring the pigeons feasting on a freshly frown crumbs nearby. Fenris crossed his arms over his chest observing the mage with Felix who was apparently enjoying the show as much as he was.

 “I have to say I’m quite surprised the Archon decided to invite us to the most important event of the year. We’re not even in the Magisterium yet,” Felix said to the elf.

“I know. I don’t like it,” Fenris said curtly brows now slightly furrowed. Dorian stopped abruptly at that, a finger pointed at the elf.

“I’ve heard that, Fenris. Could you please, please even once, for a change, say “Oh, I like it, Dorian, it’s such a great news”?”

“Oh, I like it, Dorian, it’s such a great news,” Fenris mocked, but Dorian only nodded and smiled at that disregarding the elf’s tone. “… that we can be collectively assassinated,” Fenris added coldly at which Dorian sighed throwing his arms into the air exasperated.

He walked up to them and took them under their arms. The sky turned to pinkish orange, sun setting behind Minrathous tall buildings, illuminating the facades and bringing all the golden ornaments to life.

“We’re invited for a Tevinter ball, of course there will be a few assassinations, but it never stopped me from attending and it sure won’t stop me now,” Dorian declared proudly.

He looked around clearly in search of something. The square was getting busier, lively humming of conversations held over drinks coming from nearby bars and restaurants. The waiters were turning on the lanterns or lighting lampions that were the summer’s hottest trend.

“But now, my friends, now we drink,” Dorian announced spotting a particularly tall glass of a long island being carried on the tray in one of the pubs.

***

As soon as Dorian sobered up, he realised that the Imperium Ball was scheduled for the same day as the vote of their most recent project. For months they’ve been working on passing a new law that would grant freedom to slaves’ children who, until now, from the moment they were born became the property of their parents’ masters. It was too important for all three of them to be put away for the sake of the ball.

At first it seemed impossible that the bill would even be put to vote. Now, they knew they couldn’t feel confident enough to sit with their fingers crossed while getting ready for the event. Dorian was aware how crucial these last days before the vote were. Their fathers were working on the magisters in the Magisterium, bribing them, negotiating, trading favours and exchanging votes, but it was their duty to make sure that the bill will be absolutely flawless when it makes it to the vote.

No matter how excited he was about the chance to go to the most important event in Tevinter, it went without saying that they spent their days and nights over the bill. They usually worked in his flat, sometimes in his office at the university when they needed more resources which couldn’t be taken outside the library regardless of Dorian’s personal charm or Fenris’ stern look.

The night before the vote, they couldn’t allow themselves the luxury of going to bed early. It was almost three, when Dorian decided to give his eyes a bit of rest and he looked around his living room. Every time he blinked he saw strings of letters and words as if they were already engraved in his eyelids.

It was dark; a warm, soft light of lampposts in the street was seeping through the windows, inside they lit only three lamps near their working space, just enough to be able to read. Felix was sitting in an armchair near a table covered with books and papers, brows furrowed, scratching his temple with a pen. Fenris just came back to the room, put a mug of coffee at his desk and returned to his pillow on the floor.

Dorian watched him read, mouthing silently every word, sitting cross-legged and writing down something from time to time on a paper laid down next to him. It was strange how quickly this setting became familiar to him, how comfortable he felt sitting with Felix and Fenris at such an ungodly hour working swamped with work. Dorian reached for his coffee smiling to himself and slowly taking his eyes of the elf to go back to work. Even before they’ve often found themselves with Felix in the morning covered with blankets, their papers safely stored in drawers so they wouldn’t drool on them during sleep, Fenris already gone to sleep at his flat.

The clock struck half past three in the morning, when Fenris stood up and stretched. He glanced at Felix sleeping with a copy of their bill still in hands. He walked up to Dorian who was fighting the fatigue with caffeine. The mage was reaching out for his mug with the last drops of his fuel, when Fenris took it away. Dorian only sighed at that rubbing his eyes and brushing few strands of hair from his temple.

“You should go to sleep,” Fenris whispered. “We’ve all read through it multiple times, you know it’s perfect.”

Dorian huffed silently and pointed at a lamp at his desk, the base was a masterfully carved black marble statue of a lion standing on his hind legs. “Well, this lamp here also seemed to be perfect, but as you can see, it’s hardly useful giving such little light.” He pinched his nose to stay focused.

They all knew that they chiselled the bill the best they could, but giving it away scared Dorian the most, because as long as he had it he could still do something. The minute it was passed to their fathers’ and the Magisterium, the bill and its fate was out of his control.

“What time should I come back here?” Fenris’ words brought Dorian back to his dimly lit living room.

“An hour before it starts should be fine,” he replied shuffling the papers and putting them together before adding them to the growing pile next to him. Suddenly, he stopped and sighed staring at his desk, his heavy head in his hands. Felix was quietly snoring in the armchair.

“If it doesn’t, we’ll try again. Harden your skin, mage,” Fenris spoke up reading him perfectly. Dorian looked up at him, but before he opened his mouth to reply to that, the elf moved away.

“Go to bed,” Felix added pointing at him with his hand still holding the empty mug. He took it back to the kitchen, picked up his jacket on his way, “And remember to lock the doors,” he added and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again for kudos!!! This chapter is slightly shorter and maybe slower, but prepare for more action.  
> I hope you're enjoying it so far and please feel welcome to share all your thoughts :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imperial Ball, lemon tarts and Fenris being right, again.

They uncorked the first bottle an hour before Fenris knocked on the door. He let himself in hearing that the party has already started. He heard the music coming through the doors and the moment he went in, he was greeted by Dorian with a glass in his hand. The mage swirled around breaking the conversation with Felix to look at Fenris and check if his fashion choices were up to the task for the evening. Fortunately, the etiquette required them to wear Tevinter official outfit, which, for men, meant looking exactly the same except for the house colours.

Dorian turned to the elf and froze at the sight. Fenris was standing tall and straight in the hallway dressed in a brand new vest with a stand-up collar. The deep black leather was decorated with silver thread and swirls resembling his lyrium markings visible on his bare arms. The vest and the trousers were closely fitted leaving very little to the imagination about Fenris’ impeccable physique. Dorian realised he’s never seen an elf in such an attire and his heart skipped a beat at the thought that Fenris will probably be the first elf in the Tevinter’s history to attend the Imperium ball as a free man.

The stern look of the elf’s green eyes told him he might have been staring for too long. “Will this do?” Fenris asked doubtfully.

Dorian cleared his throat doing his best to avert his gaze from the elf’s lean and strong frame and his chiselled arms. “You look spectacular, my friend,” he admitted meeting his eyes slightly breathless, a little bit too soft and quiet to feign indifference. The minute a faint blush crept up Fenris’ cheeks, Felix appeared with an extra glass of wine.

“Have you told him? Fenris, have you heard? The bill passed!” he smiled handing him the glass and clanking it immediately with his. “By the way, nice vest, you look very dashing,” he complimented with a smile. “Doesn’t he, Dorian?” Felix teased his friend now suddenly very silent.

“All right, Felix. No more wine for you,” Dorian smiled taking away his friend’s glass and emptying it before handing it back to him.

***

The octagonal ballroom of the city hall shimmered with light and gold making him feel dizzy. Above their heads shone a semi-transparent glass dome so the guests could admire the stars covering the night sky looking like glitter spilled on a dark blue velvet. Classical music interlaced with the hum of conversations and whispers shared in the room and underneath the arcades. Eight massive black pillars decorated with golden vine leaves, dragons and lions were supporting the dome and dividing the hall into eight sections with adjacent rooms.

Tables heavy with Tevinter specialities, floral decorations and crystal decanters filled with wine stood under each wall. Fenris felt trapped in this golden cage, every exit doors encumbered with guests, servants, tables, sculptures, chairs, pillars or vases. He noticed slaves of all kinds flitting under the arcades or walking around serving drinks or appetisers. An elven boy offered him a glass of champagne at the entrance at which his stomach twisted as he had to accept the drink and play along.

Black and gold were the dominating colours in the hall, only flowers and women added other tints that brightened the party, their dresses swishing with crimson, emerald green or purple. He was grateful for the Tevinter’s etiquette and rather modest official attire for men, even though he didn’t feel comfortable with his arms on plain view and attracting attention.

He was mostly left alone when Dorian and Felix were mingling to gain more supporters and advocate their cause. He didn’t expect this to be easy. He knew there were going to be slaves, powerful mages that are going to make his skin itch and pull, he expected the whispers, curious stares and poisoned drinks, but he completely forgot that Dorian’s and Felix’s parents are going to attend too. Fortunately, Dorian was smart enough not to press to introduce him and Halward Pavus didn’t seem overly interested in meeting him either.

Magister Pavus and his wife Aquinea made a model Tevinter couple. They were beautiful, powerful, rich and terribly fed up with each other’s company. Still, Fenris could easily see Dorian in both of them, especially in Halward Pavus. He was a handsome and formidable man, although he lacked Dorian’s charming nonchalance and the mixture of confidence and carelessness of a man fully aware of the influence his looks had on others. Fenris couldn’t spot Felix’s parents, supposedly they were hidden in one of the arcades with Felix and his potential fiancée, Livia.

"It does bring back good memories," Dorian sighed dreamily next to him taking a sip of his wine.

“How so?” Fenris asked not sounding interested in the slightest. They were standing next to one of the tables, Dorian admiring more charming guests and answering tons of questions about the new law and his future projects, Fenris constantly on guard keeping an eye on Dorian, Felix, and the Archon who joined the party an hour after it started.

 "I’ve met my first lover on a ball, he was quite an important magister. My father absolutely loathed him," Dorian confided calmly following Radonis’ personal assistant with an interested gaze.

"Oh," was all what Fenris said not able hide his surprised expression.

Dorian huffed at that. "Do you think I couldn't attract such a high-up's attention?"

"No, I just... Because of your... predilections, I assumed that you… ekhm,…went down the more traditional, well-travelled road," Fenris answered cautiously, suddenly interested in Lady Theresa’s yellow dress. Just the sole mention of that tradition made his stomach churn.

"You mean you thought I had my first time with a slave? Sorry to disappoint, but I never found obedience attractive," Dorian said matter-of-factly. By then, Fenris expected him to say something on the lines of 'I'd never take such advantage of anyone' or 'I find this practice appalling and inhuman', but he realised that he truly appreciated Dorian's honesty and straightforwardness.

Dorian raised his glass greeting the Archon who was now looking in their direction. For the first time, Fenris was happy to see the man as he’d greatly appreciate the change of subject. After all, one of the reasons they attended the ball was to be seen with the Archon. The man approached them slowly dismissing others waiting to attract his attention.

“I’m pleased that you could come. Now, I have a chance to personally congratulate you on your most recent victory,” the Archon said raising his glass and waiting for them to follow.

“Thank you, Your Magnificence. The honour is ours. We believe that this new law will only make our country stronger,” Dorian replied inclining his heard respectfully. When he straightened up, Fenris saw him casting a quick glance at someone. He saw Halward Pavus watching them closely from a nearby pillar, his wife at his arm.

“We’re currently working on another project that will help us improve our relations with other countries in Thedas. We’d be more than happy to present you a draft once it’s completed,” Dorian offered, his full attention back on the Archon.

“As you can see, your bill has already shaken up our dear dusty Magisterium, so I’d be more than interested in your future work. Everyone is already discussing your activity, it’s tonight’s main subject,” Radonis smiled slightly. “Your activity and your elven friend,” he added looking at Fenris. Dorian still couldn’t shake off the effect the Archon had on him, but every time his interest turned to Fenris, there was something in him that wanted to take the elf as far away from this man as possible.

“How are you finding it, Fenris?” The Archon asked and Dorian winced internally, the man didn’t know he stepped on a thin ice.

“It’s easier to breathe without a collar, which makes the whole experience definitely more pleasant,” Fenris replied coldly.

Surprisingly, Radonis simply smiled at the remark. “I value your honesty, Fenris. It’s a rare quality here, in Tevinter, and it is quite refreshing.”

When Fenris didn’t return the compliment, the Archon sighed slightly. “You have to excuse me as I must see to other guests as well. Lord Pavus, please contact my assistant to arrange our meeting. The sooner the better,” he said and as Dorian nodded eagerly, he walked away Fenris stare locked on his back.

***

Dorian downed his wine, his legs feeling soft and wobbly, cold sweat trickling down his spine. Come to think of it he felt more at ease roaming the Emerald Graves with the Inquisitor. At least Felix is having fun, he thought looking up at his friend laughing with Livia. He saw her hand brush against Felix’s shoulder which brought even wider smile to the mage’s face. Unfortunately, next to Felix and Livia, standing amongst the colourful crowd of high-born women was Rilienius. The moment he caught Dorian’s eye, Dorian reached for another glass and moved to take a step forward.

“Don’t even think about it,” Fenris’ warning growl stopped him immediately. Dorian rolled his eyes, although he was quite surprised with the elf’s such an overtly hostile reaction.

“Yeah, you may be right. Have you tried those tiny lemon tarts?” the mage had a swift sip of wine and helped himself with the sweets displayed on the table. Fenris didn’t respond to that watching Rilienius constantly glancing in their directions. A small lemon tart with a meringue on top suddenly appeared under his nose and turned his attention away from the tall mage. Dorian was standing close to him gently pressing the tiny cake against his lips.

“I don’t like sweets, mage” Fenris said sternly feeling the heat rising to his cheeks at the closeness of the man. They were in plain view and they really didn’t need any extra attention that night.

“Don’t be difficult, they’re very palatable to say the least,” Dorian smiled.

“You always have to have it your way, don’t you?” Fenris grumbled, but opened his mouth to get this over with as quickly as possible. Regardless of his serious approach to law and politics, Dorian could be such a child sometimes. The lemon’s sour flavour pinched his tongue the same moment he felt the press of Dorian’s fingers on his lips. When he looked the mage in the eyes, his cheeks flushed, he noticed that Dorian himself was no less surprised and flustered. Suddenly, Fenris wished that there was no else in the room.

Instead he turned his gaze away to distance himself from the man, swallowed the tart quickly and washed it down with wine. Then he put down his empty glass as he apparently had more than enough for one night.

Dorian reached for him when the earth trembled underneath their feet. It was as if there was a beast living under the city hall and it decided to stretch after waking up from a long nap. Fenris only managed to look at Dorian, his brows furrowed and muscle tense, when first cries rang out in the adjacent entrance hall.

“Don’t worry, someone probably decided to spice things up with a nice murder,” Dorian dismissed Fenris’ alerted look, but the elf ignored him moving past him. He glanced at Felix standing nearby with Livia, still flirting with the girl. Other guests didn’t seem to notice the cries or were already whispering about them treating them as the newest gossip and speculating who might have died and dared to be so loud about it.

Then the earth grumbled again and they heard more cries coming from the hall and growing. He would always be able to recognise the sound that came afterward. It was the sound of singing metal, weapons being drawn to fight and kill. Fenris took a step back shielding Dorian. A pang of power made his skin crawl just before the blast shattered the doors to the hall. In the last second he only managed to grab the mage and pulled him down to the ground hiding behind the table they were standing next to.

The cloud of dust covered the whole ballroom, the cries grew louder as people were trying to find their loved ones, the less fortunate were calling for help and bleeding from splinters speared into their bodies. Fenris turned to Dorian frantically looking him up and down.

“Are you all right?” he asked loudly to overcome the ringing in his ears. The mage’s dark hair were dirty with white dust of crushed marble, but he was unharmed. Before Dorian had time to reply to that they saw lights of casted spells hitting stunned guests followed by inhuman cries they both knew all too well. Darkspawn. “How good are you without your staff?” Fenris whispered immediately looking Dorian in the eyes.

“I’m… all right, I guess,” he answered quietly observing as Fenris drew a dagger from his boots. It was not the time to wonder how the elf managed to sneak past the guards with it. Fenris looked around spotting Felix hidden behind the table with Livia like they were.

“Let’s hope you’re better than that,” the elf whispered back peeking at the entrance. He hit his head against the table leg at the sight angered at himself. He should have expected it, they shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

Ten hooded magisters with their shafts in hands were followed by at least thirty darkspawns armed with swords, daggers and hammers. The room was a mess, people were running towards the doors protective spells shielding them for long enough to pass the attackers and slip from the hall. The main entrance was blocked with debris. Even though the numbers were on their side, they were not armed and guests were not allowed to bring their staffs to the ball. Fenris saw one of the hooded magisters striking a woman in a yellow dress down.

“Dorian, listen to me. You have to cast protective spells over yourself and me, Felix will do the same and at my sign you need to stand up and run to the nearest exit,” the elf crouched next to the man instructing him quickly.

“And what? Leave you behind? Perish the thought, Fenris, figure out a better plan,” Dorian brushed the dust from his black vest looking sternly at the elf. “Also, you’re hardly better armed than I’m.”

“But I’m far from being defenceless,” Fenris grabbed his arms tightly smile cracking his lips when his lyrium brands lit up. “Dorian, I’ll be close behind you, covering your back. There’s no time for another plan,” he added hastily as the last guard was sliding down the wall with a slit throat.

The sounds of the fight began to grow as the magisters were forced to battle their way out. It was their only chance to escape as soon as possible. Dorian hated himself for agreeing to this, but Fenris was right. He looked at Felix and when he casted a protective spell over himself and Fenris, Felix quickly did the same for himself and Livia. At that Fenris rose up slightly and peeked once more. Ten magisters were busy fighting with the ones brave enough to put up a fight, darkspawns rummaging through the room and dragging people from underneath the tables or catching them on their way out.

“Now,” he said and his lyrium markings lit up illuminating his dark skin. He sprinted towards the nearest darkspawn. He phased through him, drawing his dagger covered in blood out of the shattered body to pare a blow of the next one. Dorian stumbled on his way to the door stunned by the sight. He never had a chance to see the elf fight. Now he saw what Fenris meant that dance is somewhat similar to fighting.

The elf dived underneath a muscular arm of the third darkspawn and grabbed it twisting it painfully enough to take over its sword before driving his phased hand through the creature’s chest. He never saw anyone fight like this, there was a terrifying beauty in his swift, well thought movements.

It was Felix’s hand that urged him to head out while casting spells to help Fenris out. A great relief washed over him when he saw his parents running through the exit doors. The Archon was nowhere to be seen, probably evacuated in the first place. He looked back at Fenris slowly (too slowly, he thought) following them and fighting off the darkspawn gathering around him. He felt a surge of energy being drawn and then saw a magister readying a spell, his gaze focused on Fenris. Dorian stopped abruptly and sent a ball of flame in the mage’s direction.

That exact moment, alongside the sizzle of fire and sparks, he heard the sound of all the doors being shut. Felix and Livia hit it and clutched the doorknob twisting it. At the sight that even unlocking or fire spells didn’t make the doors to yield, a sickening realisation crept up his spine. They were trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you so much for all the kudos! Please remember that your kudos and comments motivate me greatly and let me know if someone is actually reading this :)
> 
> I hope that you like where the story is going and that the burn isn't too slow. In my defence, I think that the boys have more issues than Vogue and it'd take time, wine and some fights to bring them even slightly closer together.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, not all balls end like Dorian would like them to.

The octagonal room became their cage in which they were trapped with seven hostile magisters and twenty darkspawns. This is definitely not how Dorian imagined his perfect evening. The floor was scattered with food, cutlery, debris, dust and bodies of fallen guests. They weren’t granted with any time to talk as the minute the attackers spotted them a rain of deadly spell was cast over them forcing them to strengthen their barriers and take cover behind the pillar.

The moment he regained his mana, Dorian stepped forward sending another fire ball towards the mage. In the corner of his eye he saw three others magisters, Archon’s guests, fighting the same battle. He also saw Fenris shielding them from the darkspawns and drawing them further away. The elf was already covered in blood and too far away for Dorian to say how much of it was his. Dorian watched him dance with a stolen sword cutting, answering powerful blows, dodging those his arms weren’t able to handle and phasing in and out illuminated like a firefly surrounded by huge moths.

“Felix! We need to help Fenris!” he shouted to his friend casting a freezing spell at one of the magisters. Dorian looked around quickly.

In the face of much more experienced and better armed enemy, they had to be smart. Brute force was good for fighting with darkspawns and demons, but not magisters waving their staffs and sending blows one after another. His blood turned cold when he heard a cry and saw a body dropping to the floor. One of their allies fell dead with a black hole gaping in his chest. Dorian focused on a nearby table and raised it from the ground to throw it at the mage closest to him.

The dust didn’t have time to settle as more of it was being scuffed up with every spell hitting the pillars, walls or piles of debris. At some point he could hardly see anything, he soon lost the sight of Felix and Livia. A darkspawn’s blade caught him from behind making a shallow cut on his arm. He turned with hands filled with fire when another blade emerged from the darkspawn’s chest. Fenris stepped over the fallen body, his face and white hair covered with blood.

“Watch out, mage,” he said breathing heavily, his lyrium marking flashing white and pulsing. Dorian saw the fire and thrill of the battle in his eyes, but he could also tell how tired the elf was even though a wicked, savage smile was spreading his lips. “Focus on those bloody mages, I’ll handle the darkspawn.”

Before Dorian could react to that, the elf disappeared in the dust and his attention turned to a magister who tried to trap this illuminated point in an electric cage. Dorian was a person who always tried to look on the bright side, but there were no bright sides of being trapped with no weapons in a room filled with evil magisters and darkspawn. If that wasn’t bad enough, he knew he may not have enough mana to even defend himself. If only he had his staff…

Dorian straightened up suddenly.

“You fool,” he muttered angrily to himself looking around. It was ten of them when they entered, it was seven when the doors were shut on them. That meant that there were three staffs laying here for him to take and he only needed one. He sprang to the place where he saw one of the evil magisters fall. The minute he picked up an abandoned staff and tighten his grip on it, a wide smile spread across his face.

“Now we’re talking,” Dorian smiled to himself and with a vigorous swing blasted the nearest attacker off his feet.

***

He was standing near the ruined entrance when he cast his last spell locking the mage in a cage which crushed him closing on him with its electric wires. The man’s body made a horrible sound of breaking bones and blood sipping through cracked skin before it plopped with a wet sound to the floor.

By then Dorian was panting, clutching his staff and doing his best not to fall off his feet. The dust was slowly setting down in the completely destroyed ball room. Half of the dome was shattered, the glass covering broken floor alongside with parts of plaster and marble. Most of the lights were out, some were still flicking in twisted lamps. He didn’t want to look too closely at the debris on the floor already seeing pools and splutters of blood everywhere. In the fight he lost track of time. He looked around trying to find his friends, his heart thumped anxiously in his chest.

“Fenris! Felix!” he shouted taking cautious steps and manoeuvring through scattered debris. Felix and Livia were closer to him than he thought, both crouching down next to one of their allies sitting on the floor. The man had a nasty wound on his head that would leave him scarred, but not kill him. A moment later two other magisters approached them, a woman and a man were helping a limping young mage.

“Where’s Fenris?” Dorian asked quietly looking around. He felt his skin turn cold and his throat tight at the realisation that the elf was nowhere to be seen. “Fenris!” he called out again his heart starting to race.

“Lord Pavus, if you’re looking for the elf, the last we saw him he was fighting the darkspawn at the other end,” the woman spoke up helping the young mage sit down by the pillar. “He drew them away, it was… incredible and strange how they followed him, like they couldn’t see anything else than…”

Dorian let his staff fall with a loud thud and sprang to the other end of the ballroom. He heard Felix’s footsteps following him.

At the base of one of the eight pillars he saw bodies of slaughtered darkspawn surrounding a knocked-over table. He ran when he spotted a white head resting against the stained white cloth still covering the table. Dorian fell to his knees throwing away bloodied bodies and rubble laying atop the elf. Fenris was covered with blood, white dust and black pieces of killed darkspawn. His face was pale, slim arms heavily bruised and already covered in colourful, sickly blotches. At the sight of his chest rising, Dorian sighed with relief as if he himself just started to breathe.

“Fenris, Fenris look at me,” he said with a trembling voice cupping the elf’s face with his hands. He patted his cheek.

Fenris slowly opened his eyes and immediately winced from paint furrowing his brows. His head was pounding and for a second he couldn’t remember where he was and why his body felt like it was been thrown on rocks and set on fire.

“You look horrible, mage,” he croaked looking at Dorian and suddenly at the sight of those stormy eyes staring at him alive and bright he almost didn’t mind he couldn’t move his arms or legs. All three of them were covered with dust, their elegant clothes ruined with blood and dirt. Fenris noticed a shallow wound on Dorian’s forehead, blood trickling down his temple.

“Well, you don’t look very dashing yourself at the moment,” Dorian huffed out a weak laugh.

“Dorian, we need to get him out of here, fast,” Felix whispered to him and eyed the wound Fenris was clutching at. The blood was seeping through the elf’s fingers, a huge gash in his left side. Dorian nodded quickly. From behind they heard the sound of doors being opened. The room was again filled with the scurry of hasty footsteps and voices shouting, offering help, looking for survivors. Felix stood up and waved at the servants who were first to come inside. Some confused guests were coming back and looking around stunned.

“We need help over here, quick!” he shouted waving at two elves and crouched back next to Fenris. The elf was pale, his gaze unfocused.

“Fenris, you have to stand up, Fenris, stay with me,” Dorian patted the elf’s cheek again trying to keep him conscious when Felix was doing his best to stop the bleeding. “Hold on to me,” he commanded putting Fenris’ arm around his neck and hauling him back to his feet. Fenris winced loudly at that, his legs slightly budging. When he managed to stand up straight, he looked over Dorian as if assessing the damage.

“Not bad, mage, not bad at all,” he smiled weakly and then everything turned black. The last thing he felt was an incredibly warm arm catching him before he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos guys! I hope you're still there and still enjoying the story as there is still a lot to come!  
> Let me know if you think it's missing something or if there are things you'd like to see and I'd do my best to see what I can do :) If you think there's too much/too little of action, inner monologues, etc, please do let me know as I'm still figuring out how to write this glorious Tevinter duo :)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because some need at least a dozen of darkspawns to find bravery to do things they should have been able to do without being put in a life or death situation.

A sharp pain in his side brought him back to reality. At first the only thing he saw was blackness, but as the memories started coming back to him in waves, he thought he was still trapped in that bloody ballroom, laying somewhere underneath a table. The black room smelled different though. He couldn’t sense the metallic smell of blood, dust didn’t make him cough anymore and air smelled more like sandalwood mixed with exotic flowers than ozone of magic. When his fingers tightened on a thin silken duvet, he was sure he was no longer in the city hall. The last thing he remembered was Dorian’s face covered with yellowish dust and blood, his eyes fixed on him, worried. His heart panged anxiously.

“Dorian,” Fenris croaked trying to sit up. The pain from a freshly stitched wound made him groan and forced him to lay down again. His throat was sore and dry, he felt as if the city hall’s dome had fallen directly on him.

A sound of a book being quickly put away came to him from his left side. Someone turned on a lamp on a nightstand and a dimmed warm light filled the room. In the corner of his eye Fenris saw Dorian, previously dozing off in an armchair. The mage moved closer and sat on the bed. The dust and blood were gone, he changed into clean clothes and seemed completely unharmed except for a scratch on his temple and extreme tiredness visible on his face.

“Are you all right? Is Felix all right?” if the mage asked him something, Fenris didn’t get it. He tried to sit up once again, but finally only propped himself on his elbows.

“Yes, I’m fine and Felix is sleeping in the living room, we’re all right,” Dorian reassured him quickly and offered him a glass of water. Fenris eyed the glass before taking it from the mage, he was still struggling to stay focused.

“You really should just lay back, it took a while for Felix and Magister Alexius to patch you up. You have a few broken ribs and almost lost a big chunk of your intestines,” he added when Fenris emptied the glass. Dorian took it back with slightly trembling hands and put it away. The moment he turned away, Fenris caught his wrist.

“Dorian, are you all right?” he asked again, his voice no more than a whisper. Fenris didn’t remember the mage falter or tremble even for a second during the attack or the fight. But he sure trembled now. Dorian managed a small smile.

“Now, yes,” he freed his hand from Fenris’ grip and put his hand back on silken sheets. “You were out for almost twenty hours, Fenris,” Dorian sighed rubbing his face with both hands to chase the sleep away. Fenris noticed dark circles under his eyes, visible even in the weak light.

“I didn’t fight all those darkspawn so you could die of exhaustion. Have you slept at all?” Fenris said flopping back on the bed as his elbows gave away.

 “How could I have?” Dorian answered, this time his gaze fixed on the dark sheets. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the ballroom, desperately looking for a staff, defenceless, depleted, listening to Fenris’ and Felix’s cries of pain, dying, being torn apart. He saw those beautiful, cruel markings on Fenris’ body go out, blood seeping from his fingers, felt the weight of his body when he carried him out unconscious and wheezing.

Fenris hand slid through the sheets and found his, the slims fingers tightening around him. “Harden your skin, mage. The fate of Tevinter slaves is in your hands,” he said calmly. His thumb gently traced the meanders of veins bulging just underneath the skin of Dorian’s hand. “What happened out there may happen again, I agreed to take this risk and so did you. I’m expandable, but you’re not, Dorian, don’t forget about it.”

Dorian looked up at him furrowing his brows. Fenris never saw such anger in the mage’s eyes, an anger directed at him.

“I’d hardly call a person who killed at least a dozen of darkspawn in a row expendable,” he retorted and sighed heavily after a second before continuing. “I understand what’s at stake, Fenris, but I won’t accept losing my friends in the process, I won’t let you happily sacrifice yourself on the altar of change. You saved us, but I saw what you’ve done,” his hand clutched tightly on the sheets, “Throwing yourself at the darkspawn… That wasn’t just bravery or fulfilling your duty. So, maybe you accepted your death, Fenris, but I don’t intend to,” Dorian said hotly. He averted his gaze not being able to look at the elf afraid of completely losing his already shaken composure.

He was happy to be alive, but if he wasn’t so awfully tired, he would scream at Fenris for what he said. He certainly did not wish to live through something like this again, after all it wasn’t Fenris who was carrying his bloodied body out of that ballroom.

Dorian heard a pained wince and rustle of the silk when Fenris moved closer to him. He cupped the man’s face with his hands sitting next to him. There was some gentleness in the gesture, but less than Dorian wished. It was grounding, safe, reassuring, confident, it was Fenris, his voice and his presence. Suddenly, Dorian didn’t miss the gentleness anymore.

“Dorian, I’m all right,” Fenris said slowly forcing the mage to look him in the eyes. He brushed his thumb over the scratch on Dorian’s temple and saw the man’s anger subside. “Now go to sleep, you ridiculous mage,” the elf added moving away. He touched his side covered with bandages and lay down slowly with a small huff.

Thankful in a way that Fenris didn’t give him time to respond Dorian exhaled the breath he was holding and also moved back to return to his armchair. A short, suggestive cough sounded behind him at that, so he looked at Fenris too surprised to say anything. The elf was looking in the other direction lying flat on his back.

“I’m not going to offer again,” he muttered.

Who’s being ridiculous now, Dorian only smiled to himself and climbed to the bed lying down on his side next to Fenris. He kept his distance, clutching his fists in the darkness to stop himself from reaching out.

 “Are your parents all right?” Fenris asked quietly looking up at the ceiling. Dorian nodded already closing his eyes and pulling up the duvet.

“Yes, thankfully they managed to escape, before the doors were shut.”

“Good,” Fenris took a deep breath. “And Rilienius?”

“Safe and sound, one of the first to be out,” Dorian cracked one eye open to look at the elf.

“Shame,” Fenris commented.

Dorian snorted. “You sure are not too fond of him.”

“No, the man is an idiot,” Dorian’s eyes snapped wide open at that. Was Fenris meant what he thought he meant or was it just his wishful thinking? At that point he preferred not to know, he was surprisingly content with just those words.

The elf was laying still next to him. All they could hear were the sounds of the streets muffled by the windows and drawn curtains. Dorian closed his eyes once more calming down his heart, tiredness taking the better of him. He caught himself smiling with his face pressed to the pillow listening to Fenris’ even breath, when the elf whispered:

“Dorian... I really liked those lemon tarts.”

“I’ll get you some tomorrow,” he whispered back, the memory of Fenris’ lips just underneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes again and did his best not to open them straight afterwards Fenris moved slightly closer to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos!!! Hope you enjoy the read :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

That morning getting up was harder than usual. Dorian forced himself to climb out of bed and took a long cold shower trying to forget the press of Fenris’ warm body against his, the elf’s soft hair tickling his chin, and his herbal smell…

He joined Felix in the living room running his hand through his still damp hair. Sun was high in the sky illuminating the room and gleaming in golden vases and painting frames. The world looked exactly as they left it almost two days ago, the events of the ball no more than a bad dream. With dire and very real consequences, Dorian sighed picking a sweet bun from a coffee table.

“How’s he feeling?” Felix appeared from the kitchen and handed him a mug of coffee. It amazed Dorian how well Felix dealt with extreme situations. The man managed to go to the bakery downstairs, made coffee, breakfast and, from judging by the newspapers all over the sofa, was going through the morning press. If he was with Dorian when they fought Corypheus with the Inquisitor, Felix would have probably prepared breakfast also next morning after spending whole night healing everyone.

“Much better, although still a bit feverish... I think,” he said having a sip of coffee and picking up his phone from the console underneath a crystal mirror.

“Oh, yeah, it has been ringing whole morning,” Felix said offhandedly on his way to Dorian’s bedroom. Dorian only murmured a short “uhm” already swiping through missed calls and new messages. He took his keys and wallet and went out.

Ten missed calls from his father, five from mother, six from Varric, then four from Cassandra and another seven from the Inquisitor. He opened a message from the Iron Bull. _Heard about shit going down in Tevinter. Hope the family jewels are still in place._ Dorian shook his head smiling to himself, he needed that especially before the conversation with the Inquisitor whose last concern would be his “family jewels”. And to think that it was such a pleasurable morning.

***

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Dorian greeted Fenris walking out of his bedroom. He put the paper bag on the coffee table and shot Felix a depreciative look. The man only spread his arms walking past him to get back to his newest issue of The Minrathous Daily. In the bright daylight Fenris looked even more beaten up, purple and yellow bruises covering his face, arms and chest. He was wrapped with a fresh bandage and was slowly walking to the nearest armchair supporting himself on his way with walls and furniture. Dorian heard him huff out a pained, strained wince when he finally settled in the chair.

“All right then. Have something to eat and get ready as we need to talk to the Inquisitor,” Dorian sighed. He took a white paper box from the bag, opened it and put down on the table. “I’ll be right back,” he added lightly and turned back to hide a smile at the sight of Fenris’ cheeks flush bright red when he saw six tiny lemon tarts in the box in front of him. Felix raised an eyebrow at that, but knew better not to ask.

Dorian unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out his laptop. He never left anything important out in plain sight, especially his laptop, even though he much preferred keeping everything as analogue as possible. More difficult to steal than volumes of notes and notebooks he kept in different places in his home and his office. He was silently grateful to the Inquisitor for insisting on talking to them that day. It helped him escape, or at least postpone, the moment when he would torment himself with the thoughts about Fenris, last night and what the elf might have meant. Or if he even had meant anything or was simply feverish and tired. Dorian didn’t allow himself to start dwelling on the thought if he wanted Fenris’ words having any meaning. He got comfortable in admiring the elf from afar and trained himself well enough to almost convince his own self that he doesn’t want anything else from Fenris than his respect and, maybe, one day, his friendship. He already got his lesson on wanting too much from remarkable men. He couldn’t possibly compete with Garrett Hawke as he once couldn’t compete with the Inquisition’s throne.

When Dorian returned to Fenris and Felix, he put the laptop on the table and turned it on to connect to the video conference. There were only four tarts left and Felix seemed too focused on his reading to eat. He didn’t comment on that, but the warm feeling he felt in his stomach was probably the nicest thing he felt in a while.

Dorian moved closer to both of them so they could fit in the frame. He cleared his throat and fixed his hair and his moustache before making a call.

“You look nervous,” Fenris noticed eyeing him suspiciously. Then the screen flashed, they heard some crackles and the Inquisitor’s face appeared in front of them.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” Dorian greeted the man with a smile. Inquisitor Trevelyan was a man around their age with noble features softened by a few freckles on his straight nose and high cheeks.

“Dorian, Fenris, oh, and Felix! There are no words to express how I relieved I am to see you all in one piece,” he returned Dorian’s smile. Fenris didn’t comment on that as even if he technically was in one piece, he surely didn’t feel like it. “Leliana is already investigating what happened during the ball. I also looked into the messages and files you’ve sent us, Dorian, and I admit it doesn’t look good.”

Fenris looked at Dorian startled. He was sure the man left the bedroom no long before him, he must have dealt with it straight after the attack. He was slowly getting used to being surprised by the mage and his unusual priorities of which sleep was probably the last.

“Unfortunately, Felix and I managed to establish that most of the victims were our supporters. After eliminating the guards, the attackers focused on everyone in favour of our work, they trapped us only when magisters supporting slavery managed to get out,” Dorian said tiredness audible in his voice again.

“Do you have any suspicions who may be behind it?” the Inquisitor didn’t let his eyes of him.

“Except for the whole Tevinter?” Dorian huffed out a weak laugh.

“The Archon,” Fenris spoke up suddenly. He saw Trevelyan’s brows furrow in disbelief, a couple of days earlier they were ecstatically reporting to him about the Archon joining their fight. 

“I’m afraid I… I may need to agree with Fenris,” Dorian said surprising them both. “We can’t count anyone out at this point. And if we’re correct, then things are worse than we thought. I contacted my father and I’m sorry to inform you that our next bill will not pass.”

Fenris felt his blood turn cold.

“But it’s…,” he started, but Dorian didn’t look at him, his eyes cast down.

“Is it the one on sexual exploitation?” the Inquisitor inquired keeping his tone neutral looking for something in the papers spread in front of him.

Dorian nodded slowly. “The vote is in two days. We lost too many supporters, some of them were killed, some are still covering from what they suffered and we expect more to withdraw their support,” he confirmed meeting Trevelyan’s gaze. “As I’ve said, I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do in this situation.”

Fenris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Only now he saw how badly they fucked up going to that ball, scheduling the bill for such a date and not foreseeing this. But it was Dorian’s tone that put him on edge. He didn’t hear Dorian he got to know and worked with for the past weeks. He heard a politician, a bloody magister, a high-up sitting in his ivory tower and talking in the way that could curry him favours, mimicking the players of the big game. He didn’t feel that betrayed even at the ballroom when all the doors were shut on them.

Fenris stood up abruptly and went straight to the door. He was boiling inside, not feeling any pain anymore.

Dorian looked at Felix. “Please continue,” he said quickly before running after Fenris apparently taking his leave. He caught him in the hallway already putting his shoes on and supporting himself against the wall.

“Fenris, care to explain to me what you are doing?” he asked trying to sound calm. He saw sweat breaking on Fenris’ temple. “Fenris, stop,” he reached out for him to still him at least for a second, but the elf shoved him away. His lyrium markings went alive with light.

“For Maker’s sake, don’t you dare touch me again, mage,” he snarled facing Dorian. A pained look crossed the man’s face, but he backed off.

“Fenris, trust me, it’s not easy for any of us and I understand how difficult for you it’s to accept…” Dorian started, but Fenris’ scoff cut him short. In mere seconds Dorian found himself shoved against the wall, Fenris’ hand on his throat, the elf’s markings still alight.

“No, Dorian, no, this is the thing. You don’t understand,” Fenris said his voice cold. “You can’t understand how it feels to have your face being thrust down by a man you despise so he can have his way with you anytime he wants and who then tells you to smile, day after day. Because if you did, you would never be able to sit back like you just did and say in such a smooth, Tevinter way that oh, you’re sorry, so sorry, but there’s nothing more you could do,” he seethed tightening his fingers around the mage’s throat.

Dorian looked him in the eyes, he knew that if Fenris wanted to kill him, he’d be dead in a second. Maybe it wasn’t smart of him, but he didn’t feel fear when he looked into Fenris’ furious eyes.

 “Do you think I’m happy about it?! We have to face the reality, no matter how ugly it is and, right now, it’s just pure awful,” he said clutching his hands into fists. Even if he didn’t live through a hell like Fenris did, it was his work, his main purpose that was being thrown out of the window because of one unfortunate event. No matter how it looked he wasn’t letting it go lightly. He just had to admit to failure, in front of the Inquisitor himself, his best friend and the man who was the reason he got himself into this whole mess. And admitting defeat wasn’t something Dorian Pavus was used to.

“What else do you want me to do, Fenris?! Because if you have a brilliant idea how to make this bill pass, please enlighten me! Because I’m bloody sure that strangling me won’t help in this case!” Dorian threw his arms wide open rising his voice at the elf for the first time.

Fenris grabbed the collar of his jacket in his hands and shoved him once more pressing him with all his force to the wall. “This, mage. Don’t smile and nod, not to the Archon, not to your sweet, handsome Inquisitor, not to anyone. Rage, mage, rage,” he whispered hotly, his face only millimetres away and his green eyes gleaming with fire.

Next moment Dorian was standing alone, Fenris kicking his shoes off on his way back to the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos! I hope you're enjoying the story and please feel free to share your thoughts as I really hope that all those views are not passes ;)


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Dorian walked pass Felix who was just finishing their conversation with the Inquisitor. When he closed the bedroom doors behind him, Felix shot Fenris a questioning look. He heard those two shout at each other in the corridor, but he couldn’t tell any words apart. The elf only shrugged taking the laptop from him and sat on the sofa to read through the news. Felix felt that the best he could do was to sigh and let those two handle each other hoping he won’t regret it soon enough.

Dorian left his bedroom half an hour later in a cloud of perfumes that made both Fenris and Felix to look up. He was dressed all in black, tailored, elegant trousers, smooth shirt and a well fitted jacket. The deep black fabric was masterfully embroidered with golden swirls, flowers and peacocks. Fenris shifted uncomfortably next to Felix at the sight.

The first thing that came to his mind when he saw Dorian like that was one word: magister. If he met this man in the streets of Kirkwall, he’d know straight away his was a Tevinter mage. It wasn’t only the way he was dressed, but like he carried himself, the power radiating from him, captivating, sucking all the air all around. What troubled Fenris the most was the thought that he couldn’t bring himself to dislike Dorian like this. He remembered all too well himself having the same stance, the same readiness in all his gestures. He acted this way every time he put on his armour, sheathed his knives knowing he’ll use them.

Dorian passed them, took a black briefcase from a shelf and packed some of his papers. Then he walked up to Fenris, closed the laptop without any word of explanation and took it from him to pack it as well.

“Dorian… What are you doing?” Felix asked cautiously standing up. He didn’t like the vehement expression on his friends face. But Dorian only stopped in front of the mirror, checked his perfectly coiffed hair, fixed the ends of his moustache and brushed off the invisible fluff from his jacket.

“Don’t even think about going out there all by your…” Fenris started, his mind full of news about their supporters being hunted down, finished off in hospitals or arrested for no reason. In his current stay, he was incapable of protecting Dorian.

“Felix, please make sure that both of you get enough rest,” Dorian looked at them in the mirror, his grey, stormy eyes in stark contrast to his dark complexion and well defined, black eyebrows.

Fenris turned to Felix. “Are you really going to let him go out? Have you not heard what they are saying in the news?” He tried to stand up, but his earlier outburst wore him out and every move reminded him of Dorian talking about him having broken ribs. Felix didn’t say a word, he just looked his friend in the eye and simply nodded.

“I should be back for dinner.”

And then Dorian was out.

***

Fenris was really bad at waiting. And at being a patient. Felix had to stop him at least ten times from standing up and walking out of the flat to follow Dorian, wherever the man went. Every information they were getting from the news was not making the waiting any easier. The mage that got his head wounded was poisoned in the hospital. The daughter of the woman who helped the young mage was kidnapped. The upcoming vote was also vastly discussed, but Fenris always made Felix turn the radio down at the mention of numbers, academic research, statistics and reports.

The Archon’s silence was the thing that troubled them the most. There was no official statement, he didn’t condemn the acts of violence nor promise to find a “swift solution”. According to the media, recent events weren’t related, they were narrated as unfortunate coincidence, “few dark days in the glorious history of Tevinter”. There was also no sound from or of Dorian.

After two hours Felix almost forced the elf to drink a medicine that would speed up the healing process and help him to doze off. Usually it knocked every person for at least eight hours. Fenris slept for two. He settled on a upholstered window sill with the best view on the street. Even Felix decided to review their recent work in the meantime, in the corner of his eye he saw the elf clenching his fists and heard him muttering something about bloody, irresponsible mages.

The sun was setting turning the sky pink and orange and high buildings of Minrathous looking like black forms with illuminated edges. First lampposts flickered before their warm, yellowish light flooded pavements, streets and black shadows of people hurrying back home. Fenris rested his temple against the glass giving back the day’s heat. He was watching cars stopping to pick up or drop off passengers, constantly listening to the muffled hum coming from the street and the sounds of Felix keeping himself busy. He was angry at himself, at failing before the ball, at the ball and now, for being beaten and useless, not healing fast enough, not being able to stop Dorian from walking out unprotected, not knowing how to make that damn bill to pass.

_The Minrathous Police released an official note to the public that due to the most recent events it is asking all citizens to remain at their homes from dusk until dawn for their own safety. As some disturbing incidents have been reported in multiple places, the police is currently not able to answer all the incoming calls._

It was well past dusk when they heard the announcement from the radio. Fenris checked his phone, saw Felix doing the same, but they both only shook their heads at each other. It was also long past dinner time.

“I’m sure he’s all right,” Felix said quietly putting his phone away.

“I bloody hope so because I want to murder him myself,” Fenris seethed through his teeth with his gaze glued to the streets below them.

He heard Felix’ steps as the mage went to the kitchen leaving him alone in the darkness illuminated only by one lamp, the perfect useless lamp with the lion. Fenris sighed stretching his legs only to hear a clank of keys coming from the corridor. He froze for a second and then, forgetting his injuries, hopped of the window sill and started walking in the direction. Dorian appeared in front of him, in one piece, arms, legs, black suitcase, perfect hair and untouched moustache. Unharmed. Fenris didn’t let him utter even a single word shoving the mage against the wall the second time that day.

“Where the hell have you been?!” he snarled after looking Dorian up and down checking if he’s all right. He smelled his expensive perfumes and wine. He didn’t feel any resistance in the warm, surprisingly strong mage’s body pressed against his. Dorian’s proximity didn’t hurt him anymore, but he wouldn’t say that it didn’t make him unsettled. Fenris looked the mage in the eyes and saw a smug smile appearing on his face.

“I can’t say I mind being pressed against a wall by a handsome man, but I kind of hoped for a warmer greeting,” Dorian said calmly, which only made Fenris anger soar. “Before you say anything, I want you to know I went to see my father to make sure we’re not giving it up this lightly.”

“Are you insane?! Do you know what’s been going on on the streets?!”

“Fenris,” Dorian interrupted him calmly, but the elf wasn’t listening.

“Do you have any idea of what kind of danger you put yourself into?!”

“Fenris.”

“We… Felix was worried sick.”

“Oh, really, _Felix_ was worried? Fenris, listen…”

“I really wish I could just…”, Fenris trailed off, when the sense of Dorian’s words suddenly hit him. He furrowed his brows. “Wha-what did you just say?”, he whispered not sure if the mage is not playing games with him.

Dorian jumped at the opportunity when the murderous spark disappeared from Fenris’ eyes, his own bright with excitement, to cup the elf’s face in his two hands and leaned in.

“I’m saying that I’m not giving up on the bill, Fenris,” Dorian said, his tone serious but Fenris sensed a note of amusement, mischief and… danger. He liked the proud smile on Dorian’s face, the power and determination he felt radiating from the mage, from the fingertips touching his face. And then he whispered those words to him.

“We still have some time left and I used it to remind our enemies, in a very smooth, _Tevinter_ way of mine, that they're not the only terrifying people in our glorious Imperium.”

There was a storm and thunders in Dorian’s eyes with enough force to destroy and rebuild. The force and ruthlessness he looked for, yearned for. Fenris could barely hear him after that. He looked at Dorian. There he was.

“You were right, Fenris, they thought us weak, defeated, scared, and we should strike back, try harder, find other...,” Without thinking, Fenris pulled him in and kissed the man, his fingers letting go of Dorian’s jacket to slip in his soft hair.

The touch of Fenris lips on his and their tangy taste of lemon overwhelmed him at first, but when he felt the pressure of the lean silhouette against his, he tugged the elf closer and returned the kiss with the same intensity. Dorian Pavus was not in a habit of making glorious men wait for his response. Especially not those whom he felt he needed more than oxygen.

A groan escaped from Fenris lips when he pushed Dorian against the wall with more force. He made sure there’s no space left between them as he felt the mage touching his waist. He finally grabbed that outrageously gorgeous face with the same want and neediness he felt in the way Dorian held him tight to himself. At the closeness of Dorian’s body, his taste and smell he let himself go, forgot his injuries, the ball, the Archon, the bill, the elves and mages.

He wanted to break the kiss to get some air, but one “don’t” whispered by Dorian against his lips was enough to bring him back, his hands touching the mage’s face and chest, once again making sure he’s all right. Until now, he didn’t fully realise how much he wanted that, how much he _needed_ that. Only then he felt that he really did escape that ballroom, they both did. The strength of Dorian’s hands clutching at his hair and sides and his uneven breath told him he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. He thought he’d fall apart if he had to let go of the man.

The sound of footsteps brought him back like a bucket of cold water.

“Dorian? Is that you?!” Felix called on his way to the living room. Fenris immediately freed himself from Dorian’s arms and stepped back almost jumping away from him. Dorian smoothed his jacket and only glanced at him, but Fenris quickly turned his face to hide a flush rising to his cheeks.

He had to clear his throat. “Were you expecting someone else?” Dorian smiled picking up his briefcase and walking to his friend. He patted Felix on the arm on his way to his desk. “Good that you’re up, we have work to do.” Dorian decided to ignore Felix’ perplexed stare and to be as loud as possible when getting his things out to drown out the sound of his racing heart.

“Fenris… Are you all right?” Felix went up to Dorian to help him out. He looked at the elf over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, it’s the wound, I… I think I need to sit down for a bit,” Fenris replied avoiding his gaze. He sighed hiding his head in his hands the minute he reached the sofa. What in the Andraste’s name has he just done? Was it too soon? Was the moment right? Too soon? He shouldn’t have done it in the first place! Pity none of these questions flashed through his mind before he kissed Dorian. Just the sole of thought kissing Dorian made him bite his lip and ache at the absence of the mage’s lips. He should have stuck to fighting darkspawn and killing magisters, it was easier, he thought to himself, a pain in his side now pleasantly grounding him and clearing his head.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and lovely comments! You have no idea how important it is for me and how much it motivates me to keep going! Please be open to share all your thoughts! <3
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter as here I am, sitting and wondering just like Fenris.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Dorian was slightly thankful for the upcoming vote that helped him focus on something else entirely and ignore the elephant Fenris and he brought to the room as if they needed more troubles at the time. It didn’t help him sleep though. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel elf’s lithe, strong body against his, his lips tangy with lemon and hands more grabby and needy than he expected. It wasn’t only Fenris physique that kept Dorian awake at night, but the thought of being wanted, _desired_ by the elf. At first he was telling himself that Fenris was probably relieved seeing him coming back home safe or maybe he was thankful, excited even, hopeful for the future of Tevinter? But Dorian Pavus played this game for far too long not to recognise desire when he saw it. That time he felt it striking with a force suiting the infamous lyrium elf.

Thank the Maker his father and politics kept him in line. Dorian almost lost track of how many meetings he attended with his father while Fenris was getting better, either in his own flat or at Dorian’s accompanying Felix. They barely spoke, him working and winning them as many votes as possible and Fenris more silent than usual. He felt Felix’s questioning gazes when the three of them was in the same room for few minutes and none of them was talking. But they had two days to introduce a real change in Tevinter’s history and the clock was ticking.

Dorian listened to Fenris. The time of bribery, sweet talks and promises was over. He wasn’t asking any more. Tevinter’s high society was built on secrets, lies and fears and he decided to use it all against his opponents. He usually abhorred such methods but as soon as more of his supporters were being assaulted on the streets or their homes, he had to agree with Fenris’ firmer approach. Also, this bill was too important to just let it go and carry on.

He wanted Fenris to join them at the Magisterium to watch the vote. At first, Dorian suspected he was going to hear a straight “no” as the place made the elf physically hurt and he would have to be introduced as Dorian’s or Felix’s servant to be allowed entrance. Fenris appeared on his doorstep wearing traditional Tevinter black, sleeveless vest tightly fitted to his fully recovered body.

“Are you ready, mage?” Fenris asked not bothering with getting inside. Dorian only nodded at him. They left the elephant at Dorian’s place, locked, waiting for better times.

***

The vote was held in the main hall of the Magisterium. Above a circle room built on a plan of an ancient amphitheatre with seats encircling and cascading down to the main stage, hang a gigantic dome. It was covered with a golden mosaic adorned with the Imperium’s most precious gems and depicting the birth of Tevinter. Every person who looked up was blinded with gleaming gold and only shortly after could see the Imperium’s progenitors standing proudly with four biggest battles being carried in the background. All marble used to build the hall was black with golden veins that glinted even in a very dim light. Dorian knew no natural marble had golden veins, especially as those were real gold. He used to find it breath-taking and beautiful, now it reminded him of different veins into which his countrymen decided to pump another precious material to make it shiny.

All the dome’s weight was rested on the tips of four staffs carried by four hooded figures carved in black marble and serving as majestic pillars.

First held an open book as Tevinter was built on the power of knowledge and took pride in its advancement.

Second held a miniature of an eluvian as a symbol of the Imperium’s triumph over the elven race.

Third was clenching his fist around a viper’s neck as a sign of conquering the powers of nature.

Fourth held a globe as then a sign, now a reminder of the Imperium’s past glory and present ambition.

Surprisingly, none of them was holding a vial of blood, Dorian thought to himself bitterly watching as magisters were taking their seats. The whole room was quiet, only sometimes he could hear whispers or the sound of doors being carefully closed. The atmosphere was solemn, tense, but he couldn’t feel any chaos in it. Magisters were slowly getting ready, shuffling their papers and notes in front of them, barely talking, the Archon’s seat still empty.

“We should’ve blown all this bloody thing up,” Fenris grunted behind him. “More efficiency, less effort.”

They were seated in one of the galleries above, Dorian could see his father taking his seat. Gereon Alexius had his seat on the opposite side of the room, he was already there when they came. Dorian tried to took pleasure in the majestic architecture brought to life by sun beams. At his left Felix did his best to look composed observing the room just like Dorian.

A deep and heavy toll announced the Archon’s arrival. They all stood up and waited until Radonis took his seat and thumped the end of his staff against the ground. The session has begun.

***

They were three votes short.

Rilenius turned slowly in his seat and looked up at the balcony knowing exactly where to spot Dorian. The moment his eyes met Dorian’s, Fenris heard the wood creak underneath the mage’s clenched fists. The elf winced furrowing his brows feeling the force emanating from Dorian. He felt his fury lined with exhaustion and disappointment. Fortunately, Dorian Pavus never lost his nerve in public.

Not letting go of the armrests Rilenius couldn’t see, he inclined his head at the magister, his expression composed and neutral. Dorian felt as if he was the one carrying the whole dome on his shoulders and started to see how pointless his efforts were. In the end they changed nothing. Other slaves will suffer the fate Fenris’ once suffered and Tevinter will never change, it will nail its own coffin driven by its own petty affairs and personal grudges.

The sparks jumping around his fingers intensified. He was looking at his father and other magisters proceeding to another bill. He caught himself breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. Back in the Inquisition, he would’ve gone to the Bull and organise a trip to fight some Venatori hiding in the woods. Now, he was sitting in the middle of the magisterium, everyone waiting for him to slip, let his guards down. Dorian took a deep breath to compose himself, but he found it harder than before. How could he look at Fenris _now_? He couldn’t even look at Felix.

Dorian felt a strong hand squeezing his shoulder from behind. Fenris was standing behind him, silent, motionless. Dorian didn’t dare to move until the grip eased when Fenris backed away and left.

“Meet me in my flat when this is over,” Dorian whispered to Felix, patted his hand lightly and followed the elf.

He thought he would need to rush after him, but Fenris was standing next to one of the windows looking at busy streets of Minrathous. Dorian sighed not knowing what to do with his hands and what to say.

“Fenris, we…,” Dorian Pavus was rarely at loss with words. He cleared his throat. “ _I_ need to go back to my place and…” he took few steps towards him, but thought against it and just turned back to Fenris. He ran a hand through his hair.

Surprisingly, keeping his emotions at bay was easier in a room full of people. Dorian thought he mastered the art of letting people down. At least he thought he was better at this by now. Fenris’ silence disarmed him, let his mind dwell and torment him.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here, you shouldn’t have…”

Fenris clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. He would love to have his sword with him, barge to that bloody room and butcher every single magister. All those men and women who didn’t regard his suffering important enough to vote for the bill, who put their businesses, pleasures and comfortable lifestyles before him and people like him. He wanted to scream that he was right and nothing changed in Tevinter and they were all blind fools not to see this.

But then there was this brilliant idiot standing behind him. A Tevinter mage who refused to sleep, to eat and to take a break to do more than anyone has ever done, to _try_. Fenris looked at Dorian and his stormy eyes tired, but still ready to apologise for the actions of his countrymen. Fenris knew all too well the look of a man fighting alone a battle that requires a whole army.

"You did what you could,” he started, his voice slightly hoarse at the beginning. Fenris walked a few steps towards the mage. “We lost a battle, one battle, Dorian.”

Dorian didn’t see or hear a defeat in Fenris. Anger, exasperation, hatred, yes, but nothing else. Seeing the elf’s relentlessness, he wasn’t surprised Fenris was the only slave who managed to escape and slay his master.

Dorian nodded in a silent agreement. A dull buzzing broke the silence and made Dorian reach into a pocket in his jacket to retrieve his phone. He grimaced at the name illuminated on the screen.

“And now I have to deal with the aftermath. If I’d known this day was going to turn out so horrid, I’d rather have stayed in bed,” he complained hiding back his phone.

Fenris furrowed his brows. “Who was it?”

“Our dear Inquisitor is waiting for my report,” Dorian sighed looking at his reflection in one of the windows. He smoothed his jacket and started to walk to the nearest staircase. “You’re welcomed to join, but this is going to be a dreadful conversation I’m certainly not looking forward to,” Dorian complained walking down the stairs.

Fenris has never heard him speak about the Inquisitor this way. To be honest, Dorian always seemed cheerful, even giddy, at the sole idea of talking to the Inquisitor. Even though Fenris never cared about gossips, he’s heard a few things about the outrageous relationship the Inquisitor got himself into. He stopped midway looking suspiciously at Dorian’s moving back.

“Because we lost or because we kissed?”

Fenris knew his timing was probably awful, but he couldn’t think about a good one. Yes, they lost, but the earth was still spinning and their past actions weren’t magically erased, so Fenris decided he would rather like to know if he might have angered one of the most powerful man in Thedas by kissing his lover. Especially before talking to the man again.

Dorian froze at the question and turned to face the elf.

“Because we lost. There’s nothing about that kiss that I regret, Fenris,” he said, his tone firm, and then he continued walking down straight to the Magisterium’s main doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I'll be happy to hear more about what you think and if you're enjoying the story so far.
> 
> This chapter wasn't easy to write, but it turned out to be my favourite so far. Hope you'll enjoy it as well and that the burn is not too slow ;)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Streets of Minrathous were bathed in warm, orange light of the setting sun. It illuminated the best features of the old buildings’ facades. Taking a sip of a freshly poured wine, he looked at floral patterns carved in stone, ridiculously twisted and stylised tiny balconies, just like his, mostly useless, but looking very picturesque from the street level.

Dorian used to love this. He found Minrathous magnificent. He adored its grandeur and shameless abundance. First time he walked those streets, he felt like he truly was in the middle of the universe. Every building, every corner was a work of art, he wanted to touch, to kiss, to hold all this beauty. He took it home. A teenager helplessly enamoured with the most magnificent city on earth.

He couldn’t remember when exactly he started seeing through the cracks of this perfect image. When he noticed the first chips in the buildings he was walking past. Now, even blinded by the light, he saw dark shadows of dust, dirt and time left on the facades, rusty spots and blotches underneath the balconies, windows closed shut twenty years ago not be opened since.

Dorian leaned against the slim barrier warmed up by the sunlight, a glass dangling in his hand a few feet above the street. He understood the love for the old glory, but couldn’t agree to stop at it. Not anymore. Years ago he ran away before he started to hate what he used to love. Being back, seeing the bigger picture, when the rest still admired the Imperium from the street level, blindly entranced, was a much bigger challenge than he expected.

“Thank the Maker for a good, old Orlesian pinot grigio,” he sighed to himself swirling the liquid in a glass and watching it catch glints of light.

“So it didn’t go smoothly, I presume,” Fenris spoke up next to him. Strands of his white hair looked like unruly flames dancing in the soft wind. He was looking at the buildings in front of them, but Dorian doubted Fenris was simply admiring the architecture.

“It went all right,” he started and took another small sip. “Soon we’ll have a chance to discuss this in person as the Inquisitor informed me he is coming to Tevinter with Cassandra and Varric.”

Dorian hoped his voice didn’t fail him. In other circumstances, he would have been thrilled to see his friends from the Inquisition, he’d love to go back to Skyhold and meet all of them.

“One may say you’re not particularly happy about this,” Fenris remarked sparing Dorian questioning looks.

“Oh, I’m happy I’ll see them, but… Ok, you’re not going to like it,” he turned to Fenris and ran a hand through his hair looking for the right words.

“There is an… event in Seheron. It’s not as formal or important as the Imperial Gala, as its main focus is politics and academia, but we can’t allow ourselves to miss it. The Inquisitor was invited by the Magisterium to discuss the problems of Circles in Thedas,” even if Fenris wasn’t looking at him, Dorian saw how his brows started to furrow. “I promised the Inquisitor we’ll join him. Trust me, I’m not delighted by the thought of boarding a ship to get there, but…”

“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we went to a ball we couldn’t miss, mage?” Fenris grumbled straightening, his gaze still fixed on the other side of the street.

“First of all, you’re not listening to me. It’s not a ball, at least not exactly. Second of all, how do you imagine us getting back on our feet after what happened after today’s complete political disaster?” Dorian spread his arms exasperated. “Not to mention that the Inquisitor wishes the three of us to be there. What did you expect me to say?”

“No?” At this Fenris finally turned to face Dorian. The mage knew that frown all too well by now. “But the Inquisitor is not a person one may say ‘no’ to, am I right?”

By a split second Dorian was mentally preparing himself for _the_ conversation. He couldn’t decide what he saw on Fenris’ face or what exactly he heard in his tone. It might have been a simple anger at one particular Tevinter mage who was making his task even more difficult.

“Fenris, I know I don’t have to explain to you the importance of this meeting and I assure you that this time we’ll be better prepared,” Dorian started to fill in the tense silence. “Also, there’s a silver lining. I haven’t played the wicked grace in a while and since I’ve learnt you could bet either money or clothes, I may actually have a decent chance of winning,” he smiled and took a sip of wine.

“You’ll end up naked _and_ broken, mage. I don’t know in what world this means ‘better prepared’,” Fenris sighed rolling his eyes slightly at Dorian’s smug expression. He moved away from the barrier and walked past him.

“Uhm, where are you going? Felix will be here any minute,” Dorian frowned following the elf with his gaze. He stepped inside when Fenris ignored him and kept on walking.

“There are two new tenants on the sixth floor of the building on the other side of the street and, by the looks of it, they’re preparing to test how impenetrable your house is,” Fenris said not looking back at the mage. On his way out he took the sword he’d left on the sofa.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos and all your support as it's much needed! This chapter is slightly shorter, but not because I'm running out of ideas - quite the opposite. Who knows what awaits our Tevinter magnificent trio in Seheron?


	18. Chapter Eighteen

So they didn’t talk about it.

On the day of their departure to Seheron Dorian locked himself in his bedroom. He sighed listening to Fenris and Felix, complaining in the living room about him still not being ready, and downed a glass.

A sleepless night wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, but this time not only did he feel that he needed his beauty sleep to maintain his defences but was also stressed about things he thought he was done worrying about at the age of sixteen.

Today, after many months, he’ll see the Inquisitor. And yes, they kept in touch, talked over the phone or video calls, but it didn’t make any difference. He wanted to see the man more than he wanted to admit, he missed him, missed the others, the feeling of companionship and friendship. At the same time he dreaded the moment like nothing else. He still struggled to stop his memory from flooding his mind with the images of the Inquisitor’s smile, the sound of his voice, his smell when he got off from the shower in a rush to sign some important paper leaving him tangled up in sheets.

He spent a fair share of time recovering after his misstep and knew all too well he couldn’t afford to make the same mistake over again. He convinced himself he was all right, he believed in being over the man, but what if he wasn’t or what if he… was? Ironically, that thought scared him even more, because of what it entailed. He pictured a particular broody, beautiful white haired elf next to the Inquisitor. He was walking into the same trap all over again and this time he knew better than to look for some comforting from a Qunari. Not that he had one at hand anyway.

Dorian paled and stopped packing for a second. If Iron Bull decided to come, he’d rather drown in the bloody sea than be part of this trip straight from his nightmares. It all started to look like a terrible joke.

Will the Inquisitor notice? Will he read him right away like Varric probably will? Will he assume he moved on? Will it change anything and does he want it to change anything? Dorian closed his suitcase and looked at himself in the mirror. He was starting to understand why Fenris preferred fighting demons than socialising. He wasn’t excited about the Inquisitor seeing him infatuated with someone else. Hopelessly, again.

If that wasn’t enough, the perfectly sunny and pleasant weather decided to change at the exact day of their trip. The raindrops and violent gashes of wind weren’t helping him to cheer up.

Dorian sighed mentally preparing himself to leave the room. He took his suitcase and started walking.

***

To Dorian’s chagrin, the weather didn’t change and the main port of Minrathous greeted them with chilling winding and rain strong enough to make everyone miserable and wet, but not to force the port’s authorities to cancel all crossings to Seheron. The sea was restless, uneasy, its waves angrily crashing into boats. He felt his hands getting cold and slippery and it wasn’t because of the overwhelming humidity.

The Inquisition’s small party was waiting for them just by the trap to their boat. Dorian immediately recognised the stern grimace on Cassandra’s face and Varric’s silhouette hidden underneath a waterproof cloak that, judging by the dwarf’s look, wasn’t exactly serving its purpose. Next to them was the Inquisitor himself, the saviour of the world, the Herold of Andraste, the chosen one, looking just as Dorian remembered him. Even though it seemed humanly impossible, the man looked powerful and majestic even in the lashing rain.

“And I remember you bragging about Tevinter’s impeccable weather, Dorian!” the Inquisitor smiled taking of his hood to reveal thick auburn hair.

Fenris tensed a bit at the sight. He made a brief acquaintance with the man, but never could make himself to trust him. He saw Dorian walking to the Inquisitor.

“I sincerely apologise on the behalf of my countrymen,” Dorian replied feigning deep concern while trying to keep at bay the smile lurking at the corners of his lips. Fenris noticed that the mage stopped in front of the Inquisitor, no more words, no more gestures.

They looked at each other and then Dorian extended his hand to greet the man, a smile spreading on his face for the first time that day, despite the dreadful weather he complained about all morning. Fenris shifted uncomfortably and turned his eyes at the moment when the Inquisitor spread his arms to embrace his friend and greet him properly. Not quick enough not to notice the strong hand tightening at Dorian’s arm. If he wasn’t sure before, but now Fenris knew that there was more truth in those rumours about the Inquisitor and a Tevinter mage than he wanted to.

Felix sneezed suddenly and apologised immediately for ruining the moment. Fenris could have sworn that the mage smiled at him briefly.

“Hello Broody! Congratulations on keeping our precious friend in one piece,” Varric’s voice boomed through the wind at him from underneath his hood dripping with water. “Seeker,” he turned to Cassandra and extended a hand. The Seeker slightly rolled her eyes, but fished out a few golden coins from her coat and gave them to him without a word.

“Fenris, you’ve met the Inquisitor, haven’t you?” She shook his hand and then led him to the man already deep in the conversation with Dorian. The Inquisitor was a handsome man, brown warm eyes complementing his hair and in contrast to his light complexion. At first he thought he might remind him of Hawke, but he lacked the man’s openness and honesty.

“Yes, I did have a pleasure quite some time ago,” Fenris replied doing his best to avoid looking at the mage. He knew this Dorian already as it was the same Dorian as the one speaking on the phone to Rilienius, Dorian being hopeful and excited and slightly scared at the same time. There was no trace of such feelings in the Inquisitor’s eyes. It was not the man who, not being able to control his emotions, throws a man, a man he should have only professional ties with, against a wall and kisses him. Only to keep his silence about the incident ever since.

The elf shook the man’s extended hand and inclined his head.

“Dorian told me many great things about you, Fenris. I’m glad I can thank you in person for helping us,” the Inquisitor smiled at him, “and for keeping our notorious mage safe,” he added putting his arm around Dorian’s and giving him a quick tug.

Fenris’ markings came to life for a second illuminating the greyness of the early afternoon with their bluish light.

“There might be a storm coming, it happens sometimes,” Fenris explained curtly seeing the Inquisitor’s eyebrows go up. One of the sailors waved at them as a sign that they were ready to go. Fenris thanked the man in his mind that that conversation was cut short, Dorian, on the other hand, didn’t look so pleased. Taking the opportunity when the Inquisitor went up to Cassandra to take care of their luggage, Dorian approached him.

“Is everything all right?” He looked concerned, lost even. Fenris couldn’t think about a witty comeback, he just walked past the man and joined Felix on his way on-board.

Varric was the last to pick up his suitcase.

“Come on, Sparkler, I’m sure you’ll find someone to keep your spirits up,” he slapped Dorian’s back on his way and winked at the mage.

***

He waited outside for the retching noises to die down. He let himself in only when he heard Dorian putting down the bowl. The room was dark except for a small, flickering light of a lamp on a nightstand. He squinted his eyes to discern the shape lying on the bed.

“Felix?” Judging by the rasp in Dorian’s voice, the mage wasn’t doing great to say the least.

“I brought you hot water with ginger. Felix said it should help,” he said sitting on the opposite bed. Dorian flopped back on the mattress, a hand pressed to his forehead.

“Will this bloody boat ever stop rocking?” He muttered angrily as much to Fenris as to himself.

Even though he preferred Fenris not to see him in such state, he was… relieved when he saw that the elf was the one who came to check up on him. Rocking boat, soaked clothes, vision of visiting his parents and talking to the Inquisitor while struggling not to be nauseous was a bit too much even for him. Dorian thanked the gods for Fenris’ aversion to small talk.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure it will,” the elf said looking around the cabin. “When we reach the port.”

“And now he jokes,” Dorian sighed. He clutched his stomach and clenched his teeth waiting for the nausea to pass. Fenris moved leaning closer.

“Should I call Felix?” this time Dorian heard real worry in his voice. He was grateful to his past self for turning off the lights and closing the shutters in the window. “You don’t look all right.”

“Hate to admit it, but even I am not capable of looking incredible just after returning breakfast and probably some internal organs,” Dorian made himself look up at the elf. It was actually quite comical that Fenris usually had the same facial expression, a mixture of worry, irritation and indignation, his brows furrowed, eyes focused.

“Fenris, I’ll be fine, now shoo,” he weakly waved a hand letting go of his stomach for a split second and deeply regretting it. “And please remind Felix about the sleeping arrangements for our guests and…”

The elf stood up, Dorian felt his cold hand on his temple and then found himself being covered with a blanket.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Fenris opened the window to throw the contents of the bowl to the sea.

“Yes, but this is important, Fenris.”

“Really, if vomiting for the past hour doesn’t shut you up, I don’t know what would,” he put the empty bowl next to the mage. When he looked up, he found Dorian staring at him.

“I think you do,” he answered simply, but regretted it instantly. After all, they apparently silently agreed on never discussing the matter and, if Dorian was to be honest with himself, he’d rather discuss it in more plausible circumstances.

Fenris stood next to his bed, a glass back in his hand, his brows furrowed again, but this time Dorian haven’t seen any anger.

“You should drink this,” he said passing him the glass. A strong smell of ginger overcame the less pleasant smells bothering him for quite a while now.

Dorian reached out to take the glass and that’s when Fenris saw it. Warm, soft light from the lamp illuminated the underside of Dorian’s wrist. There it was. Fenris couldn’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before. The long, almost faded out scar breaking Dorian’s smooth skin. He saw such scars many times on different arms and legs, he saw them being made, remembered the purpose they served. His blood turned cold, he felt sick, betrayed, ridiculed, played. And disappointed that, after all, his first instinct didn’t fail him, he was right about the mage from the very beginning.

He left before Dorian emptied the glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos! Please feel free to share your thoughts - you have no idea how happy all your comments make me!   
> I'm currently working on the next chapter and then there may be a week long break as I'm going for a trip, but, promise, I'll be looking for some inspirations and writing :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! xx


	19. Chapter Nineteen

It happened, Dorian thought when Fenris walked past him without a word and got on the car with Varric and Cassandra. At heart Dorian knew this would happen. Just the moment he became hopeful, after some time spent on processing what happened and the sole thought, the _maybe_ , just when he felt _ready_ , the elf took the same time to think otherwise and regret his actions deeply. At least deep enough not to want even look on him or share a car.

The sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the island of Seheron. It blinded him with its light sparkling on a wet, black bodywork of a car waiting for him, Felix and the Inquisitor.

Maybe when he was busy throwing up, Fenris had a nice chat with Varric who explained to him the intricacies of a human soul and convinced him why pursuing Dorian Pavus was a terrible idea. For which he probably had a ton of arguments.

“Is everything all right, Dorian?” The Inquisitor was watching him for quite some time. He looked as if it wasn’t for Felix, he would have reached out to him, touched him, taken his hand. Dorian was glad that he didn’t as he would probably break and do something he would regret. The feeling of someone’s warmth he craved for weeks would absolutely destroy him there and then. Especially as it wasn’t the warmth of that someone he truly craved. He smiled at the man one of his best smiles.

“Couldn’t been better.”

When they arrived at the Alexius’s and he saw how happy the couple was about hosting the whole party, he told himself to stop whining and start making good use of a couple of summer days given to them on Seheron away from the city’s scorching heat. He almost convinced himself that Fenris’ sudden mood change didn’t bother him anymore and wouldn’t let it ruin the whole stay. Then he heard that his parents decided to pay him a visit.

***

 He could’ve talked to Varric about it, a part of him actually wanted to. At first he thought about asking Felix, but quickly thought against it, then he decided there was no point in talking about it at all. Fenris knew all too well what he saw. He’s seen a good deal of such scars and knew what purpose they served. He felt so sick and had to stop unpacking as his hands clenched into fists. He trusted a blood mage, he willingly _kissed_ him.

He could barely look at Dorian during dinner, thankfully the mage directed all his attention to the Inquisitor and Felix’s parents. For Fenris, it was as if he was branded, he couldn’t see Dorian anymore. There was a blood mage sitting with him at the table, just a blood mage, nothing more. For a second he wished he had never agreed to all this, that he didn’t let the darkspawn take them all straight to hell, himself included. One scar was enough to make everything they went through irrelevant.

“I can see that someone could use a drink,” Varric mused walking past the elf. He saw something was wrong, but, on the other hand, he wasn’t calling him Broody without a reason.

Fenris didn’t reply to that finally being able to relax his fingers and take out his things from a backpack. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Dorian’s skin, his closeness, especially now, when he knew the whole truth. And the truth was that Varric was wrong, his friend wasn’t a good man. Fenris felt… stupid, being tricked by smiles and gentle words after so many years of experience with Tevinter mages. Why this one would have been any different?

“You know what. You look like a person in a desperate need of a quest, so listen up,” Varric came back from the bathroom and kicked his suitcase underneath a bed. “Go downstairs and fetch us a bottle of something nice and with a good kick.”

“Varric, I don’t need your tasks to keep myself in order, I’m not a child,” Fenris replied coldly looking at the dwarf with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” the man said throwing a suggestive look at the elf’s flashing markings. Fenris only looked down at himself and left the room without another word. Maybe he really needed to put his mind to something, his only worry not to meet anyone on his way.

The mansion was huge, so the Alexius’s not only had the courtesy to graciously invite all of them to stay, but also had enough rooms to accommodate them comfortably. Cassandra and the Inquisitor had their separate rooms, while Dorian and Felix where sharing a guest room similar to Fenris and Varric’s. Fenris walked down the wide oaken stars to find himself in a spacious, bright hall. He was about to venture further in his quest to find the hosts or a kitchen, when he heard a noise of a heated conversation coming from a nearby room.

Fenris didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he froze where he stood at the sound of Dorian’s voice. The mage was shouting. Fenris has never heard such anger and disdain in his tone.

“ _My_ whim?! Do you listen to yourself, father?!”

“Dorian, please, don’t be difficult. Your emotional outburst is truly uncalled for,” the woman’s voice was calm and cold in stark contrast to Dorian’s. Fenris could hear the man pacing the room.

“Whatever you call it, Dorian, you know how much it cost me to support this idea. And I’m not talking about money. So, your mother and I, don’t think it unreasonable to ask you for a small favour in return.”

The pacing stopped, the room got quiet.

“And what would that be?” Fenris didn’t have much experience in dealing with parents and family issues, but he sure could sense a trap. Judging by Dorian’s tone, so could he.

“As your recent behaviour and… company is rising questions…,” Magister Pavus started.

“… even though I’m keeping my end of the bargain to stay off the radar and keep my… _predilections_ as private as possible,” Dorian interjected spitefully.

“Your mother and I were thinking about making the matter more stable… permanently.”

“Don’t you dare,” Fenris felt his skin tickle at the air became dense with magic. Dorian’s voice sounded cold, as cold as his mother’s.

“Son, I know that you still think we’re running some kind of a hate campaign against you, but you should understand by now that it’s for your own good. We don’t ask you to… change, but to conform, at least public…” The loud bang cut Magister Pavus’ words short.

“Thank you, father, for being so generous this time not to use blood magic on me straight away! Times must really be changing as you’ve definitely became more civil,” when Dorian snarled the last words, Fenris felt his blood turn cold. _Use_ blood magic? Even he would never think that a parent would use such an abominable thing on his child, especially a child so carefully bred and raised as Dorian. The sole idea that Dorian’s father took such a step _because_ of the way Dorian was brought up in, because otherwise his project would have been ruined, terrified him, reminded him of Danarius, of times when he was someone else’s project.

Another project of another Tevinter mage.

“Dorian, please, we really want to put it all behind us. Your father apologised for that multiple times, so…”

“Apparently it wasn’t enough,” Dorian snapped viciously. “And now you both dare to come to my friend’s house and blackmail me? What do you expect me to do? Really thank you for not caging me with your magic, pinning me to the wall to cut my wrists and bleed me, bleed my shame out of me?! For not brainwashing me with blood magic until I’m all good and pliant, until I _conform_?!” Dorian’s voice carried hatred and disgust, but most of all he sounded… pained, betrayed.

“I told you once before. You’ll never be done apologising and I’ll never forgive for what you tried to do to me, father. So don’t you dare coming here to threaten me to withdraw your support, to diminish my work by calling it a ‘whim’, to force me into your idea of society, because I’m no longer a boy who would run away as far south as my legs would carry me.”

“Dorian, you didn’t…,” Dorian took a few steps making his father silent. Fenris heard the air crackle with magic that made his skin crawl.

“As I warn you, father, I’ll never run again and you do not want to test what I would do instead.”

“You’re making a huge mistake, son. Your reckless decisions will destroy this family,” for the first time the Magister Pavus’ voice became darker, in this voice Fenris heard a magister ready to make all the sacrifices needed to achieve his goal, even sacrifice his own son. Again, he recognised this tone as it was the same one he heard Dorian speak with the night he walked out to get them more votes for the last bill.

“There’s no longer a family to destroy,” Dorian replied ice cold, “Now, if you excuse me. You can let yourselves out.” As the steps were quickly getting closer, Fenris decided it’s a high time for him to get away.

He managed to take a few steps away from the doors, enough to make it look as if he just came downstairs, when Dorian stormed out of the room. His eyes were still angry, glistening with emotions, colour high in his cheeks, hands clenching into fists. He smelled of magic, barely kept at bay. The mage walked so quickly he didn’t even notice the elf standing at the stairs. Fenris took a chance to evacuate upstairs.

***

“And he comes back empty handed,” Varric commented upon glancing on Fenris when he returned.

The elf walked up to the window, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with this knowledge, especially with the method with which he obtained it. Fenris looked at his own wrists remembering the scar he saw on Dorian’s skin. The things he felt were still very real, his thoughts and the sickening feeling lingered and made him feel even worse as he slandered an innocent man.

“Varric… Have you heard that Dorian’s father tried to perform a blood ritual on him?” He asked quietly still looking at his own hands. What it says about Dorian? And what all this says about him?

“Yeah, you didn’t know about that? Dreadful business. What kind of parent does such a thing to his child, right? No wonder Sparkler preferred to fight Corypheus, at least that was the evil we all could understand,” the dwarf stretched and smoothed his clothes. “I’ll go check where’s my whiskey and you should rest a bit. You don’t look so well, Broody.”

***

He saw him from his bedroom window. Varric’s snores were coming in waves effectively keeping him awake. Dorian tripped on the first step, but quickly regained his balance only two lose it two steps later. A lantern light glinted in the dark glass of an almost empty bottle. The mage plopped down on one of the steps.

“You will freeze your ass off, mage,” Fenris closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs. Dorian’s shirt was unbuttoned halfway through, his hair was a mess, although Fenris could see that the mage had probably tried to fix it at some point.

Dorian looked up and smiled weakly to himself when he saw the elf, only to turn away and take another gulp from the bottle.

“And where this sudden worry of the state of my bottom comes from?” he asked with his gaze focused on the dark garden. He heard Fenris coming closer and taking a seat next to him. Without a word the elf took the bottle from him and put it away.

Dorian was afraid to look at him. He wasn’t ready to see what he saw in the elf’s eyes few hours earlier. He couldn’t bear Fenris looking at him the same way everyone did wherever he went in Thedas, every time he said he was from Tevinter. Not now, especially not now. Two bottles were by far not enough to drown it.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Fenris said quietly standing up and offering him a hand for support. Dorian grabbed him and let Fenris haul him back up even though the elf had to hold on to him to keep him straight.

When he built up the courage to properly look at the elf, the thing he’d seen was gone from Fenris’ eyes. All he saw was an endless, emerald green, the intense, worried, and, well, slightly pissed off gaze he knew. There he was and now he couldn’t imagine not looking at him

“Kaffas, you’re so beautiful,” he thought not aware he was whispering those words out loud.

“And you’re so drunk, let’s go,” Fenris cleared his throat. He put his arm around his waist to haul him up the stairs, but Dorian wouldn’t budge. His stubbornness earned him Fenris’ questioning look.

He wanted to tell him so much, to ask not to look at him like he did before, to talk to him, really, openly talk to him, but the world was spinning and he couldn’t trust his legs or his head anymore. Dorian looked at Fenris, at his features that seemed blurry and smudged every time the elf move, but oh how beautiful, beautiful he was. He wanted to tell him that, touch his cheeks, kiss his eyes, his lips, the tips of his amazing ears. If only he could focus, make the ground steady and sure, force his lips to cooperate with his brain, sober enough to stop him from doing all this.

“I so should run away from you, far, far away,” he whispered feeling the elf’s firm and gentle touch and knowing himself too well.

“Don’t ever think about it,” Fenris’s low voice reverberated in his chest. Dorian thanked the Maker for Fenris’ grounded approach and his own drunkenness that effectively hid the true, embarrassing meaning of his words.

 Another tug was enough to make him move, step by step, leaning against Fenris’ frame guiding him back to the house, up the stairs.

He let Fenris prop him against the wall next to his bedroom door. The elf huffed a long sigh fixing his clothes after their arduous walk.

“You really need to stop doing this to yourself. I’ve had enough of dragging your drunk sorry ass,” he said shooting him a quick look.

“And there I was thinking that you are actually enjoying it. I guess we need to find another way to spend time,” Dorian smiled, just when Fenris knocked to wake up Felix.

The elf shook his head. He hasn’t felt such relief in years.

Even though Dorian couldn’t see it, he knew Fenris smiled too. He saw his own hand reaching for the elf, grabbing the soft fabric of Fenris’ t-shirt, tightening his grip on the light material warmed by the his body. He tried to convince himself that he just looked for support to steady himself, to regain his balance, but the minute he touched Fenris, all the balance he worked for was gone, he threw it out of the window into that dark, dark night.

“Fenris, I’m… I’m sorry, but I thought that you…” Dorian started. He could scarcely make out Fenris’ silhouette in the darkness of the corridor, but he felt it when the elf got closer. When he put his face in his hands.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Fenris said even though he knew the words weren’t enough to apologise for his thoughts. His voice was so calm, warm and gentle, Dorian barely recognised it.

And suddenly he felt they were… all right, whatever it was that happened, they fixed it.

“If only you could be so nice to me every day,” Dorian smiled unconsciously pressing his palm against Fenris’ stomach.

Suddenly, the silence of the corridor was broken by a sound of Varric’s snores.

Dorian couldn’t stop himself and laughed, his palm hopefully rested on Fenris, the elf looking for the right words, pondering about his next move. He laughed at their ruined moment, at all the moments ruined by the dwarf’s snoring.

“Seems like you could use a better roommate,” the mage said only half-jokingly, before taking his hand off Fenris.

“Well, you definitely smell nicer,” Fenris stated.

“Oh, so you too think that I should have been your designated roommate,” a wide smug grin spread Dorian’s lips, he tried to make a step towards Fenris, but then his legs reminded him how drunk he still was.

 “Go to sleep, mage,” he whispered back catching him and straightening him up with a small smile. He took a step away the minute Felix appeared in the door. Fenris only nodded at the sleepy mage and walked off guided back to his bedroom by Varric’s snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kudos, comments and bookmarks! You can't imagine how glad it makes me feel that you're enjoying this story! I hope I won't disappoint!
> 
> Also, as I'm leaving for a week for a trip, there will be at least a week long hiatus. I hope you won't forget this story! 
> 
> Please do feel open to share your thoughts while I'm on my way for more inspiration :)


	20. Chapter Twenty

The house was quiet with the silence of a hot summer day broken only by a distant chirping of cicadas. The air hung heavy and still rich in a warm smell of heat and unidentified sweetness. Fenris heard that the preparations for lunch had already begun. The house seemed empty, long corridors were illuminated with bright rays of sunshine adding an eerie quality to the interiors.

After falling asleep at down because of Varric’s excruciating snoring, he hadn’t heard the dwarf leave in the morning. In his search, he decided to venture further in the house until he ended up at the other end on lured by white curtains moved from time to time by weak gusts of a summer wind. Vast terrace and a garden spread out behind them seemed like an oasis in the scorching heat.

At first he spotted a table set up with an assortment of sweet buns, bread, fruits, cheese and jams. A carafe with orange juice was still sweating slowly. Fenris walked up to the table hoping to get something to eat before someone appears, especially Felix with whom he was supposed to train at noon. The elf couldn’t remember the last time when he was late for practice. Although he was pretty sure that the last time it was also Varric’s fault. Ice cubes clanked pleasantly when he picked up the carafe to pour himself some juice. He was out for literally two minutes and he could already feel that he could use another shower.

“There’s our Sleeping Beauty,” he almost dropped the glass at the sound of Dorian’s voice. Fenris looked up putting down the carafe. Dorian was lying in the sun only with light linen shorts on, his posture relaxed, languid even, his silhouette motionless, he reminded Fenris of a big lazy cat, a panther lazily enjoying a sunny day. The elf took a sip of the juice to clear his throat. He knew that the man felt comfortably in his body and never really tried to cover it, but seeing him like this caught Fenris off guard. He used to see people like Dorian on billboards advertising an expensive drink, seeing him like this he doubted he may ever get used to the thought how attractive the man was. It was almost indecent.

“I’d have never taken you for a sleeping-in type,” Dorian said with his face turned to the sun, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black Ray-Ban Clubmaster shades.

“You should try sleeping with a snoring dwarf and then we’ll talk,” Fenris sat on a sunbed next to the mage. Dorian smelling of sunscreen and amber perfumes of Seheron looked like summer incarnate; a summer you wish to have, exquisite, hot, with a notion of fun, a hint of danger and the unexpected lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the sun to go down.

Fenris looked away the minute he realised he was staring at the mage, his dark skin in stark contrast to light shorts, his arms, flat stomach and outstretched legs. He still couldn’t comprehend how a person who never made any unnecessary movement in his life could have such a sculpted body. And, in Dorian’s case, look this good after a night of heavy drinking.

“Believe me, I did,” Dorian said. “But I wouldn’t kick you out of my bed and you know I don’t snore,” he added with a smug smile. Fenris shifted closer to the shadow feeling like he was going to melt at any second.

“Where’s everyone? I was supposed to train with Felix today at noon,” he changed the subject putting the glass away and looking around. The garden seemed perfectly steady. Fenris had to squint his eyes at the blinding whiteness of small pebbles covering all swirling paths leading further to the other part of the garden and shining in the sun.

“At noon? Interesting,” Dorian replied seemingly indifferent, but it was hard not to hear in his tone an amused jibe at Fenris’ delay.

“He’s swimming, should be back soon. The others went to see the city. Ridiculous in this heat, if you ask me. Same as your idea,” he said sounding already tired by the sole thought of moving. They were supposed to relax after all, weren’t they?

“The enemy won’t wait for favourable weather conditions, Dorian,” Fenris reminded him soberly looking back at the man. Even though he couldn’t see his eyes, he was pretty sure Dorian rolled them at him.

“Which is awfully rude.”

“This is a serious matter and you know it. I think you should join us today,” Fenris pressed and the second he was done talking, he saw Dorian sliding down the sunbed with an exasperated and loud sigh.

“Fenris, for Maker’s sake, don’t you have anyone else to pester today?” he said.

“Actually no,” Fenris replied standing up and crossing arms on his chest visibly not discouraged even in the slightest. A soft breeze brought to them a deep, heavy smell of flowers and hot air.

The elf wasn’t surprised that the mage preferred to relax and simmer like a lizard, but he’d rather see him prepared for a fight than well-tanned. He was about to remind Dorian of their last adventure, when the silence was broken by the crunch of footsteps coming from one of the paths.

Felix waved at him dripping with water, a towel hung over his shoulders.

“Felix! Finally! Could you please save me from this bull-headed elf?” Dorian exclaimed theatrically. Felix squeezed Fenris’ hand greeting him. He smiled down at his friend.

“What on earth were you trying to do to him?”

“Move. Just move and train,” Fenris replied sternly looking at Dorian as if he just made it his personal mission to make the man learn how to fight.

“Oh, so cruel of you,” Felix replied mimicking Dorian’s mannerism. He grabbed a croissant from the table. “Let me grab the practice swords and dry myself a bit and I’ll be ready,” he said swallowing quickly and already on his way. Felix was an absolute opposite of Dorian, constantly moving, eager, active.

Fenris decided to take the opportunity to also have something to eat and inspect the grounds to find the best spot for practice. First, he walked off the slippery sandstone tiles of the terrace, quickly passed the white pebbles hurting his bare feet and stopped when he finally reached the grass. Living in the city he almost forgot how much he loved the feeling of fresh, soft grass beneath his feet. The warmth of the ground, the last drops of the morning dew hidden deep between the blades. He didn’t even mind the heat anymore.

Dorian was watching him silently ever since Felix left. He watched him take cautious steps and turn his face to the sun gleaming in the elf’s white hair. It cost him a great deal to remain still when Fenris took off his white, loose top and threw it on the nearest sunbed. The pang of his heart and the sudden humidity of his palms made Dorian painfully aware that he was far too old to get excited by such a sight, but everything was different with Fenris, suddenly everything was out of its natural order.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” He heard Felix’s enthusiastic voice from behind when the man was passing him.

“I’m quite happy here, thank you,” he smiled back raising his glasses to look at both of them getting ready and already discussing first techniques. He was happy to see how relaxed Fenris seemed with Felix, to observe the comradeship they developed so far. He also wished he were like this with Fenris, that he knew what he was with him.

He couldn’t hear them clearly, but kept on observing how Fenris was showing Felix a right stance, correcting the man, teaching him how to properly make a fist, throw a punch and dodge. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Dorian’s gaze was fixed on how the light played on Fenris’ body, illuminating his markings and muscles moving underneath the skin.

Dorian shifted and sat up on the sunbed to have a better view on the two men. He wasn’t an expert when it came to martial arts, but judging only by Fenris’ posture it was easy to predict who had the upper hand in the fight despite Felix’s advantage of height and weight.

To Dorian’s surprise, he saw that Fenris was actually having… fun. His eyes were alive and sparkling, his lips stretched in a slight, but delightfully wicked and playful smirk. Dorian also caught himself thinking that he couldn’t remember when he felt so relaxed, so _at home_.

“Seems like we’re missing out!” A well-known baritone boomed next to him.

The Inquisitor patted him on the arm, his touch suddenly feeling odd, out of place. Varric and Cassandra followed the man to the garden, but immediately stopped seeing Fenris with Felix.

“Now I get why you weren’t so keen on joining us, Sparkler,” Varric winked at Dorian crossing his arms on his chest. The mage only huffed at that not even trying to deny the implication.

Felix retreated from an upcoming attack at the sound of the Inquisitor’s voice. Dorian could say whatever he wanted, the man was one of the most important people, if not the most important, in Thedas. He inclined his head politely earning a menacing look from Fenris for interrupting their practice.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. Sorry for not joining you in the morning, but I thought it’d be such a waste not to learn a few tricks from the best warrior in Thedas,” Felix said smiling at Fenris, who took the opportunity to wipe the sweat off his face. It seemed he wasn’t even listening.

“It’s completely understandable,” the Inquisitor replied making a few steps toward him. “This reminds me that I could use some training, especially with the best warrior in Thedas,” he said lightly, but Fenris’ ears pricked at the challenge in his tone. He couldn’t care less for the titles, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t want to put his own skills to the test.

“Do you think you could beat me, Fenris?” the man asked standing a few steps from the elf trying to get his attention. And probably get on his nerves.

Fenris eyed him up and down. Trevelyan was taller and heavier then him, he had strong arms and was famous for his fighting skills.

“Sure, he could! He’d beaten Hawke multiple times!” Varric boomed proudly. Fenris noticed how the Inquisitor’s brows suddenly went up.

“Were you really able to beat the famous Champion of Kirkwall?” He asked not able to hide his surprise. Hawke wasn’t called a champion without a reason.

“Depending on the day,” Fenris replied calmly. For him fighting was all about winning just as much as about losing. He knew what he was capable of, but believed that the minute he forgets to count the sheer luck into the equation, he’s lost. He had better days, just as did Hawke, and Fenris never allowed anyone to pass any judgment based on a single fight.

“So, what would you say for a little more practice?” The Inquisitor went up to him on his way picking up two blunt practice swords from the ground. He offered one to Fenris. “I’ve always wanted to try myself against the legendary elven warrior. Do you think you could beat me?” He repeated the question, this time purposely provoking the elf.

“Yes, I do,” Fenris replied matter-of-factly taking one of the swords and looking the man straight in the eyes. The Inquisitor smiled at him and it was the first time Fenris thought he saw the real man beneath the title. And he bet that many men saw that smile on a battlefield before losing their lives.

Dorian shifted uncomfortably next to Varric sensing a diplomatic catastrophe regardless of how this fight plays out. His heart started to beat faster when the two men took a few steps away from each other taking their positions.

“Who are you betting on, Sparkler?” Varric looked at him voicing the biggest conflict in Dorian’s head.

 _Who_ was he betting on? Who did he want to win? He realised he’d never seen the Inquisitor lose and even though Fenris managed to kill more than a dozen darkspawn and a few magisters in one evening, Trevelyan killed Corypheus.

“I say the Inquisitor,” Cassandra said first watching the pair with furrowed brows. “The elf is good, but he relies on his wit and speed in the fight and Trevelyan is awfully quick for his physique.”

To say Dorian felt uncomfortable would’ve been an understatement. Those two glorious men with swords in hands eyeing each other were one of the most arousing and terrifying thing he’s ever witnessed. Call him paranoid, but he felt the fate reminding him of one his nightmare he had before going to Seheron of the lovers futures past and making him feel queasy. Also, he was pretty sure it wasn’t his self-love suggesting that his presence played a huge part in this impromptu duel.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he knew who he was cheering for, on whose skin he would find the sight of bruises unbearable.

For a second, he felt liberated.

“Ready when you are!” The Inquisitor exclaimed playfully feeling the sun burning his nape.

“I have already started,” Fenris replied standing still, his body alert and ready, but surprisingly relaxed.

Dorian did his best to look undisturbed, stretched out on the sunbed and observing the whole show as if he’d seen it multiple times already. He managed to put on the act only until the first move.

Fenris’ markings lit up in a bright light blinding everyone for a second. He started to spin the sword warming up and taking slow steps walking in a circle and following the Inquisitor. The man held his sword in one hand, but he was visibly more accustomed to heavier, two-handed weapons. This fight was supposed to be just a practice, fun even, but then with every second Dorian doubted even more that Trevelyan and Fenris got the right memo.

The Inquisitor was the first to run out of patience. He attacked quickly aiming at Fenris’ right arm. The elf dodged the attack effortlessly, span his sword just like before and took a swing at the man before he regained the right stance. His sword clashed against the Trevelyan’s. Fenris retreated with a smirk.

“He’s testing him,” Cassandra said quietly observing the fight. The Seeker smiled a similar smile to Fenris’. “I bet he wasn’t expecting such a quick response.”

Indeed it seemed that the real fight began from the second the two swords clashed. Fenris felt in his arms the Inquisitor’s strength, his muscles vibrated from the impact after the man’s block. He stopped for a moment observing the man in front of him. Then he was ready to attack.

To Dorian it seemed that Fenris was swimming in the air. His movements were smooth and sure, in contrast to the Inquisitor who relied on his technique, strength and years of experience, the elf didn’t look like he was holding a sword, the weapon becoming part of his body.

Dorian felt his marking even from a distance, he felt them underneath his fingertips as if he was running a hand against an electrified fabric. He felt hypnotised by the move of his arms, his slender hips, his svelte, strong silhouette changing with every step and turn.

Kaffas, he was marvellous.

Dorian took a deep breath when Fenris avoided the Inquisitor’s vicious advance by leaping in the last second. He spun to change the position forcing the man to do the same throwing him of balance and attacked without any hesitation. His blade met with Trevelyan’s left arm and then Fenris pivoted to repeat the attack this time aiming at the man’s right side. He was countered by the Inquisitor’s sword and forced to retreat quickly to avoid having his stomach ripped apart by the tip of the blade.

“You like taking risks or trying to put on a show?” The Inquisitor smiled at the elf’s bold move. He wouldn’t admit it, but his arm stung unpleasantly after taking the hit. He cocked his head in Dorian’s direction.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Fenris replied coldly, but shot a quick glance at the man anyway. The mage was watching them closely, now slightly covered by a white, linen shirt, a few sizes too big as Fenris noticed. It cost him a valuable second needed to leap away from an upcoming attack. When he regained his stance, he spun his sword, his markings flashing brighter.

Trevelyan was strong, awfully strong actually, so with every loud clunk of blunt metal clashing against each other, Fenris was more aware that he won’t be able to keep this up for long. The heat became unbearable and his muscles burned after every block, even though his blood was singing. It was time to finish it.

There was a slight shift in the atmosphere as the two men evidently grew tired of dodging and blocking each other’s blows, both trying to tire the opponent. Trevelyan attacked first and from then on the sounds of clashing swords and loud thuds of blunt metal blades meeting flesh filled the garden. When the fight sped up drastically, it became more evident that the Inquisitor had an advantage in strength over Fenris, but the speed and swiftness the elf showed them at the beginning of the fight was just a mere portion of his abilities.

Dorian watched how he danced, spun and dodged, flipping the sword from one hand to another, spinning it, changing the direction of his moves and attacks so fast it looked like he wasn’t fighting alone. But Fenris’ attacks, every time they met the Inquisitor’s sword, were not strong enough to make the man back down or break his defence.

When Trevelyan’s blade reached Fenris’ shoulder, Dorian furrowed his brows at the thought how that must’ve hurt. The Inquisitor smiled widely straightening up all covered in sweat and breathing heavily, but visibly content.

“Have enough?” He shouted with his eyes locked on Fenris. The elf replied with a short, mischievous smile and run a hand through his hair to get it off his face and eyes. He started walking towards the man, slowly at first and then charged at him and attacked at full speed. Dorian shifted nervously next to Varric standing surprisingly still. Cassandra smirked.

“Bad move. He’s done,” she said.

The swords clashed with such a strength that forced Fenris to let go of the pommel of his sword which fell to the ground well behind the Inquisitor. He saw the spark in the man’s eyes, the light of victory, the pleasure of the final blow, when he made a quick step towards him to finish the fight. Not quick enough.

Fenris used the moment when Trevelyan advanced and then dodged passing him. In a second he felt to the ground and rolled to retrieve his sword using the free space vacated by the man. It was all he needed. As when the Inquisitor turned back to finish him, he was met by Fenris’ blade, its sharp tip pressing against his chest right where his heart was.

“And you’re dead,” Fenris said calmly.

They were both breathing heavily and dripping with sweat, when Trevelyan lowered his sword in defeat. The Inquisitor huffed and smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. He’s never seen anyone recover so quickly, especially as the elf managed to fully regain his balance and had him at a precise length needed to reach his heart.

“You need to find time to tell me more about your technique and we should definitely do it more often,” Trevelyan suggested looking at the elf, who simply nodded at the idea.

Only when Fenris slowly lowered his sword, Dorian felt as if someone’s broken a spell and he could breathe once more.

Fenris inclined his head politely at the Inquisitor thanking him for the fight and walked up to the rest of the party. Felix was glowing with excitement and happiness next to him, while Varric extended his hand to Cassandra to collect his bet.

“How are you holding up, Sparkler?” He laughed clapping Dorian at the shoulder. Dorian put his shades back on silent slowly sliding down the sunbed. Varric huffed a short laugh watching him.

Fenris, seemingly unmoved, put his sword at a free sunbed next to Dorian and wiped the sweat from his face with his top. Then he straightened up, stretched feeling all the hits in his arms, took his top and started walking back to the house.

“And where do you think you’re going?!” Varric shouted after him taking a seat in a wicker chair next to Dorian and Cassandra. The Inquisitor joined them reclining on one of the sunbeds.

“Breakfast!” Fenris shouted back disappearing in the darkness of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I've been really busy lately. Hope you still remember what happened and it was long the wait as this chapter was really challenging for me to write. Please feel free to share your thoughts!  
> (basically this is a chapter about how Fenris couldn't get any breakfast)  
> I'm already working on the next one so stay tuned! <3


	21. Chapter Twenty One

 “How much longer is it going to take?” Varric made his move putting down one of his cards. Fenris wasn’t gullible enough to allow the dwarf to manipulate him to play wicked grace with him, so in the end they settled for a simplified and harmless version of blackjack.

Fenris turned to look in the direction of the house. The sun eased a bit and the earth was slowly giving back the absorbed heat. It’s been an hour since Dorian closed the door of the study where he, the Inquisitor, and Felix with his father met to discuss their next step. The rest, Fenris included, was left to wait and kill time.

“I have no idea, but if they don’t finish within an hour, we’re going to be late for the welcoming banquet,” Cassandra answered frowning at her cards. After giving it some thought, she drew a king and slightly smirked at Varric’s pained expression.

Needless to say Fenris couldn’t focus on the game, while the bigger or maybe even the biggest game of his life was being played just few steps away. Behind closed doors, in his absence, as always. Varric glanced at him and then straightened up, turning his gaze back to his cards.

“What about going there and asking?” He suggested lightly rearranging his deck. Sometimes it frightened Fenris how good the dwarf was at reading people. Without a word he put down his cards and went straight in the direction he was looking to for the past hour.

It seemed easier than it really was. Getting up, walking the corridor and interrupting them. People with a voice. Those who can make actual decisions, who have a representation. Fenris caught himself feeling out of place, awkward, standing in front of the door, his only purpose to ask a simple question, to intrude. He knocked and walked in without waiting for an answer.

“… and that’s why I don’t think it’s the best move in our current situa… Yes, Fenris?” The chair’s leather squeaked underneath the Inquisitor as he moved and looked up, all eyes turned to Fenris.

“Sorry for the intrusion, but I just wanted to ask when you’re planning on finishing and to remind you that the banquet starts in less than three hours,” Fenris replied calmly standing still in the doors. He tried not to look at Dorian sitting on the Inquisitor’s right surrounded by folders and papers.

“We should be done in an hour, maybe less. Thank you for keeping an eye on the clock, Fenris,” the Inquisitor gave him a small, polite smile and inclined his head. Fenris knew the man was just being polite and he was probably very unfair, but he reminded the elf of many times when he was addressed this way. This time, however, even if he was in service, he wasn’t serving tea.

Liking it or not, he knew all too well that it was his cue to reply with a short nod and to back off. Fenris nodded and took a step to leave.

“Fenris, come and join us,” Dorian’s voice stopped him midway. The man took one of the many pages from a folder next to him. “It’s your case too, after all, we worked on it together,” he added and Fenris felt thankful for his stoic, calm voice, how Dorian wasn’t praising him, explaining him, convincing him or justifying his invitation, but simply stating the fact. The mage collected a few pages from the nearest table and passed them to Fenris.

Fenris sat down next to Felix taking the papers. Even though the Inquisitor was quiet, it was clear that he wasn’t entirely pleased with Dorian’s openness. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but Fenris couldn’t help but wonder why the man would mind his presence at this meeting, what were his intentions. He was a simple warrior, just an ex-slave after all. Also, this time he couldn’t pin it all on probable jealousy. When the Inquisitor inclined his head in a silent agreement, a short smiled appeared on his lips, a forced smile of someone whose plan just got ruined or has been unpleasantly altered.

Or maybe Fenris was indeed reading into things and simply didn’t like the man for multiple reasons.

The Inquisitor cleared his throat. “So, as I was saying, in this situation I think the best way is to wait, focus on passing other bills, less… controversial,” he said looking through his papers. “When the time is right we might try once more with the sex slavery,” he didn’t stop talking while writing something down.

“And when the time will be right?” Fenris asked crossing his arms and doing his absolute best not to growl at the man. The Inquisitor looked up and gave an exasperated sigh. He saw it coming.

“Fenris, I’m aware that this is important to you and trust me, it’s important to us, but we’re walking on a thin ice here and have to see a bigger picture,” he started calmly putting away the papers to focus only at the elf. “It’s hard, I know, but please, don’t make it personal.”

“It is personal, Inquisitor,” Fenris replied coldly not taking his eyes off the man. “How many more until you say it’s time? Will there ever be the right time? When if not now?”

“Fenris, please, let me…”

“I am seeing the bigger picture, Inquisitor,” Fenris interrupted the man moving on his chair towards him. He squeezed his hands into fists to keep still. “There’s no time to wait, Inquisitor. They can pass smaller bills, but this is what really counts and you know it, and you know that this should be our main focus now. I’m not saying that you should advocate for it straight away, but keep this in mind, always, make it your goal.”

The Inquisitor took a deep breath. “To be honest, I don’t think this is the best strategy, Fenris, and I don’t think we’re going to listen to your advice on this one,” he said. No one else spoke up, they were just looking at them, at Fenris. He knew this sensation coming from the people surrounding him, surrounding a feral wolf.

“I actually agree with Fenris,” a voice, calm and warm, resonated in the room. Dorian was sitting in his chair completely relaxed skimming through his papers as if totally unaware of the tension.

The Inquisitor straightened up and shot a look at the mage. “With all due respect, Dorian, but I think that in this case your personal feelings may be clouding your judgment,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Dorian only quirked his eyebrow at that.

“I assure you that my judgment is crystal clear, Inquisitor,” he replied looking directly at Fenris. “I would gladly listen to Fenris’ point of view and his idea on how to solve this,” he added making himself comfortable. He was looking expectantly. “Please, do go on.”

Fenris saw it clearly, and appreciated it, that it wasn’t Dorian defending him, it was Dorian responsible of writing the bills, solving problems, being rational and impartial. He was sure he’d toss his obstinacy and personal feelings out of the window, if Fenris didn’t make sense. Fenris shifted slightly on the chair.

“As I said, I don’t think it’s about the time, but about the bills itself. People don’t want to give back something of their own without having something in return. The last bill was taking their slaves and rights away and it was still a very short cut,” he started this time completely composed. “We should show them that they won’t suffer because of the new law, but they will actually profit from it.”

Dorian couldn’t make up his mind if he preferred Fenris fighting with a sword or with words. He did his best not to smile or turn to the Inquisitor and say “I told you so”.

“I think you’re right, but what could we possibly offer them in return to make it even?” Magister Alexius frowned asking Fenris and everyone else at the same time. The idea seemed simple enough, but to think that the people of Tevinter would throw away their right to exploit their slaves with total impunity was unimaginable. It was convenient, easy, comfortable and cheap.

“Help with the thing everyone hates the most,” Fenris replied leaning comfortably against the back of his chair. “Taxes.”

 The idea was indeed rather simple. They needed to make it unprofitable to have sex slaves and profitable to go to legal brothels instead. With such a bill they could easily count on the votes of the magisters who owned brothels or had actions in them. Fenris suggested that they advocate for a tax exemption for owners who employ only people willing to do the job and raise the taxes for employing employees coming from slavery and human trafficking. Of course, it mostly solved the problem of the commercial sex slavery, not the domestic one, but it was still a huge step forward and could actually encourage, to some extent, the magisters to use brothels instead of spending their precious resources, weakened by multiple embargos, on obtaining and keeping a slave.

“Tevinter may not be ready for a total revolution, but sure it is for this step. You can take their things away and expect people to be happy, especially not spoiled people of Tevinter,” Fenris finished looking at all of them gathered in the studio warm with the smell of dust, books and sun.

“This can work. We have legal grounds to propose it,” Dorian added raising his gaze to look at the Inquisitor. Felix nodded in agreement.

“You’re right it’s the tip of an iceberg, but I like your strategy Fenris,” magister Alexius said slowly looking at the elf. “At the end, they will have nothing to lose with the end of slavery.”

“Exactly,” Fenris confirmed. There was a lot of Felix in this man, he wasn’t surprised he started respecting and actually liking Felix’s father so quickly. He had his spirit, giddiness and open-mindedness.

“What do you think, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked, he glanced at the clock and started collecting papers and folders.

“Fine, as long as you think it’s possible, then let’s try it,” he acquiesced in the end. “But I want to see the final draft of this bill. We really don’t want to lose any more votes at this point, Dorian." He looked at the mage and when he nodded, the Inquisitor stood up silently announcing the end of the meeting.

Fenris nodded at Felix smiling at him, but then he felt as if something tingled his neck. He looked around and noticed Dorian staring at him with a confidential smile on his lips. He stood up and walked up to him.

“Didn’t know you’re as good with the words as you are with your swords. You’re becoming quite a politician, Fenris,” he congratulated the elf while the Inquisitor was at the other end of the room talking to the magister Alexius. He was holding on the many folders he brought with him. So, all his suitcases weren’t only packed with clothes, after all, Fenris thought.

“Don’t insult me, mage,” he replied, his tone light, lips quivering not uncover a smile full of content. Having a voice was one thing, standing up to the Inquisitor was another.

An arm surrounded him out of the sudden. Felix squeezed him, even happier than Fenris.

“Now we finally have something to celebrate.”

Fenris was feeling less enthusiastic about this whole banquet business, considering how the last ball they went to turned out. And he felt slightly wary, because of the way Dorian has been looking at him for the last hour. Especially as wary wasn’t the only way to call it, but it was the only safe word he found and wanted to admit to himself.

“Yes, we do, but don’t expect too much, Felix. It’s only the first occasion for everyone to meet, it’s nothing strongly official. In fact, it’s almost casual as much was the parties on the beach go,” Dorian explained calmly, but his smile told a different story. Fenris learnt so far there were no parties casual enough that were to be treated lightly in Dorian Pavus’ life.

Official or not, there were preparations to be done as it was the first occasion to advocate for their new proposition and they didn’t have much time left. Fenris started walking to the doors unhurriedly visibly not concerned of making himself presentable, so Felix took hold of him to rush him out of the room blabbering on how important it may be.

Dorian smiled to himself watching those two, the stark contrast of Felix’s enthusiasm and Fenris’ stoicism, his absolute lack of will to conform. Maybe it was the heat, the rays of sunshine or the warm smell of an old house on a summer late afternoon, but Dorian could smell the happiness in those walls and in this pair in front of him. And to think he wasn’t sure he would even be able to sense such an unfamiliar thing.

“If you two are not down within an hour, looking presentable, I will send Cassandra to fetch you,” he called out after them. Magister Alexius nodded at him and left when Dorian was still getting ready to go, making sure he took everything he needed.

Before he realised, he was left alone with the Inquisitor.

“I must admit that I worry about the influence Fenris has on you,” the man spoke up looking out at the window. He glanced back at Dorian to make sure if the mage is still in the room.

Dorian froze with his back turned to the Inquisitor, his hands reaching for two papers left on the chair. He scoffed to himself. You’re the one to talk, he thought to himself slowly letting the meaning of the Inquisitor’s words to reach him.

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Fenris has been nothing but an excellent help. Unless you’re not so happy to see me alive after all,” he replied lightly turning to face the man. The spell was broken and he was not eager to fall for it again. Quite the opposite. Dorian felt more than ready to use his newly acquired freedom.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, Dorian,” the Inquisitor’s tone softened slightly when the man looked at him. His body moved as if he was to make a step towards the mage, but in the end he stayed put.

“As I said. You have nothing to worry about,” Dorian repeated stressing the words this time. He looked the Inquisitor in the eyes, saw his lips move and begged the man in his man not to say what he was going to, knowing all too well his prayers won’t be answered.

“Dorian. We both know how it ends when you get too involved,” his tone wasn’t purposefully cold, it sounded almost as if the man cared for him, was worried about him. “You know what has to be done and when I say this, you know that all I want is to protect you.”

“There’s no need, Inquisitor, I feel protected enough, thank you,” Dorian replied calmly straightening up, folders clutched to his side. “And now, if you excuse me, I need to get ready. We have a crowd to dazzle tonight.”

He didn’t wait for the man’s response. He knew this body will still look as if it wants to move, but in the end it won’t budge when it counts, those lips will pour honey on his heart and soul to soothe him and with all his sweet, compassionate words, he will tell him he can’t, he is unable to, he cares, but not like this, not now, not ever. Dorian left the room, he was done waiting, hoping, listening, hanging on to sugar coated words of care. Care and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments and sorry for the wait! I didn't forget you and I hope you're all still here and remember what this is all about as I'm already working on the next chapter :)
> 
> Hope you're enjoying it so far and don't forget to share your opinions <3


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

In certain cultures peacocks are a symbol of bad luck. Whether there is any truth to it or not, peacocks are indeed quite unfortunate birds. Walking gems with their magnificent plumage, graceful necks and unhurried movements. Living beautiful gems. Ridiculously beautiful, too beautiful to survive even when they hide their tails, take cover and don’t show off. More often they bring misfortune only upon themselves. Unaware, caught off-guard. Betrayed by a ray of sunshine caught in their cobalt blue heads, a flicker of light lost in golden feathers, slowed down by their most extraordinary feature, their biggest pride, and eventually hunted down.

Peacocks are one of the mother nature’s cruel jokes. Created beautiful to survive and die prematurely at the same time. You see them later in parks treading carefully, constantly evaluating their position, wondering if they are safe enough to expose themselves. You see them scarred, half of their feathers gone, their tails dusty, dirty and almost gone from being dragged on the ground all the time. Hidden for the sake of survival. And all you do when you see them is wait and hope that maybe this time, even for a second, they will take a risk.

Just for you.

***

“On Andraste’s tits! Will this bloody mage ever be ready?!” Varric rolled his eyes, already at his limit. He was looking at the stairs as intensely as if this could make Dorian magically materialise. On top of it, the house was getting unbearably hot after the whole day of scorching heat and the breeze coming from an open door was more than inviting. Fenris was leaning against a stair post next to Felix, both already used to Dorian’s lengthy preparations. The elf slowly rolled up the sleeves of his light white linen shirt.

“Dorian! We are going to be late!” Cassandra exclaimed suddenly. The Alexius’ excused themselves after dinner and decided to leave the night’s festivities to “the young”. The banquet was an informal event after all, an opportunity to meet, mingle and plot before the time for real decisions comes.

“ _Fashionable_ late, my dear Seeker,” Dorian’s voice resonated from the staircase when the mage walked down to finally join them. He smoothed a black vest embroidered with golden flowers and peacocks, decorated with pearls, its flaps loose and fluctuating with every movement of the mage’s body. On his way Dorian’s caught Fenris’ gaze and smiled briefly at the elf making a quick note to himself to later express an appreciation for Fenris’ dishevelled elegance and how attractive it looked on him. Meanwhile he joined the Inquisitor to lead the party outside.

“There are very few things more dreadful than showing up too early to a party, let me assure you,” with every step Dorian’s voice was becoming more distant, the cloud of his perfumes swept by the evening wind and mixed with the heat of a garden at night. Fenris preferred to keep himself slightly behind with Felix or Varric, focused on the surroundings, remembering the route just in case, concentrating on everything but Dorian’s hand on the Inquisitor’s arm.

They saw the lights from afar. Tiny lanterns and naked round lightbulbs hanging above everything else, spread from one post to another illuminated the whole venue with a warm, inviting light. There were flowers everywhere, tastefully combined with indigenous plants and their magnificent vivid greens. The guests were by then deep in their conversations, enjoying their drinks, some of them were already, but still shyly, swaying to the rhythm of the music. Half of the wooden floor was jutting to the beach sheltered on one side by a small seaside forest. If someone listened closely past the music and murmur of conversations, they could hear the waves reaching the land and rolling on the sand.

Fenris always liked the sea. And the idea of a different world behind it.

“I hope we’ll have a better chance to properly enjoy the event this time,” Dorian’s voice ghosted over his right ear before the man appeared next to his left. Fenris thought that by that time he would be accustomed to the mage’s presence or, to be more precise, to the mage’s magic, but surprisingly enough his power still resonated within him from time to time, made his skin prickle as if the air was charged with electricity. Dorian smiled at him politely.

“Won’t you miss the drama?” Fenris replied with a hushed voice focused on the road ahead as they were just steps away from the entrance.

“Depends on who’s providing,” Dorian sent him one of his smirks and swiftly moved to the front of the group to introduce the Inquisitor and the rest of their delegation. Informal banquet or not, there was no escaping who and where they really were.

Fenris kept himself as far as possible from the party enjoying his wine in a silent company of Cassandra who, judging by her expression, was having as much fun as he was, totally immune to hot, upbeat tones of the music. His only consolation was the sight of Dorian seemingly having the time of his life talking with everyone, drinking and even dancing from time to time as the night progressed. Surprisingly Fenris found seeing his smile and hearing his laughter refreshing, especially after recent events.

“Please remind me why are we here?” he asked Cassandra offhandedly taking a sip of white wine which, he had to admit, was absolutely exquisite.

“Not all fights are won with iron, White Wolf,” the Seeker’s eyes followed the guests, skipping from one to another. The corner of Fenris’ lips curled into a short smile.

“This line sounds awfully familiar, Seeker,” he replied looking at the woman.

“There’s some wisdom in Varric’s books,” Cassandra shrugged her arms and took a glass of wine from a waiter who just passed them by. “But don’t you ever tell him that,” she raised her glass before taking a sip. Varric was clearly enjoying himself telling the story of the Inquisition to a group of young Tevinter ladies and inciting gasps of surprise with more juicy bits.

“This may not be an official banquet, but to us it may prove much more important than the official meeting itself,” Felix clarified quietly joining them as soon as he was done with greetings. “Take a close look at these faces as they are the prodigies of Tevinter’s most important families. In no time we will be dealing with them in the Magisterium.”

It seemed impossible, especially now in a warm light filled with laughter and distant sound of the waves, to imagine those young people now dressed in light colours of summer, sun-kissed and smiling in the tenebrous grand hall of the Magisterium. Fenris looked at the couples dancing nearby, swirling, missing their steps with drinks still in their hands. Forgetting they were mages, future magisters was far too easy.

“We’re here to get to know them and let them know us. Remember them, their plans and dreams until they have some,” Felix added following Fenris’ gaze. Even though Fenris was able to appreciate the beauty and charm of the evening, he couldn’t fail to notice the stares of the guests, the quicks looks at his ears, hair and markings. He was an exotic addition to the party, another attraction and even if it was by far better than being just an ex-slave, Fenris sometimes wished people didn’t notice him at all.

“What use we possibly may have for childhood dreams in the face of the Magisterium,” Fenris scoffed finishing his glass. He took another one.

“Because they tend to die hard,” Dorian supplied him with an answer appearing next to him, apparently perfecting the skill of showing up out of nowhere this evening. He downed a glass of wine.

The mage was breathing heavily, droplets of sweat were sparkling at his temples and chest exposed where he unbuttoned first buttons of his shirt. From the way the smile played on his lips and the spark in his eyes Fenris could already tell the man is positively tipsy and in a dangerously good mood. The elf barely noticed when Cassandra disappeared from his side invited for a dance by the Inquisitor.

“But, as far as I can remember, we didn’t come to brood,” Dorian made a step towards him, took his empty glass and put it away on the table. “And someone here promised me a drama,” he continued with this mischievous, irresistible smile of his. Fenris felt as Dorian took his hand and pulled him with him taking small steps backwards.

“Dorian, for Maker’s sake, what are you doing?” Fenris whispered not sure what the mage is getting them into.

“Fenris, let me enlighten you. This is a party and I’m doing what people should be doing at parties, which is having fun,” Dorian squeezed both of his hands and pulled him closer to the crowd. When Fenris was almost sure the mage wants to officially introduce him to everyone and probably add something really inappropriate at the end, Dorian bloody Pavus let go of one of his hands and twirled him around to the rhythm of music pulsing in the air.

“This a terrible idea, mage” Fenris almost snarled when the man caught him to face him.

“Oh, I do hope so,” Dorian smirked when they got in the middle of the dancing crowd. To Fenris’ surprise, it seemed more… secluded, anonymous even. Being hidden between moving bodies focused on the rhythm. “And you promised that you’ll teach me how to dance, after all,” the mage smiled not letting him go, his left hand hot against the small of Fenris’ back.

“I promised I’ll teach you how to fight,” the elf corrected him, but didn’t fight following the mage’s steps.

“Haven’t you been told already that not all fights are won with iron?” Dorian whispered to his ear when he pulled him closer. Fenris looked at him furrowing his brows, this time in surprise. He had no idea how the man could have heard his conversation with Cassandra before he joined them. Being this close to Dorian he had a chance to feel the slight height difference between them he usually forgot about. Fenris decided it was not the best time to dwell on it or on what he felt being held like that.

“Not to mention you obviously don’t need any dancing lessons,” the elf commented when Dorian’s hand moved to his hip to be able to lead him better, pulling and pushing, directing left and right in an obviously skilled manner.

“Of course I don’t, I’m a Pavus after all,” Dorian scoffed with a smile entwining his fingers with Fenris’. “Unless you have a piece of advice you would like to share,” he added lightly before twirling the elf once more. Fenris barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at that show-off.

“You may loosen your hips a little” he snapped off mid-twirl teasing the mage a little.

“With pleasure,” Dorian smiled at him his face only millimetres from Fenris’.

The elf didn’t try to pull away, he held the mage’s gaze taking up the challenge. He never would have thought he would find those grey, stormy eyes so warm.

The real danger was that the man could dance and Fenris did find it… _fun_. Beside his anxiety and slight constant irritation, he knew he was able to forget himself in this, enjoy it, let it take him, vibrate through him and, just like a sword fight, take his mind off of everything else. He moved his hand to Dorian’s nape, burying his fingers in his dark hair, remembering the last time he had this man like this, the last time he held him close. The last time none of them wanted to mention again.

Dorian fell quiet. Fenris noticed how the mage moved slower following the gentler, more sensual rhythm hidden under the energetic beat.

Oh how Dorian wished they were alone, that it was darker, that it would last longer than just few breaths.

And when he had him so close, people bumping into them and pushing them closer, the song ended and caught them millimetres apart, completely entranced, afraid to take another hot breath.

“Breathe, mage,” Fenris’ low voice didn’t help Dorian calm down. He noticed a smug smile on the elf’s lips when Fenris freed himself from his hands and backed away squeezing through the crowd.

Dorian, you really shouldn’t, he told himself just before following Fenris’ footsteps. His silver white hair a beacon guiding him further and further away, away from the party, the crowd to dazzle, the lights and straight into to the darkness of the night, the sounds of the waves crashing to the beach.

Fenris stopped when he reached the small, thin forest so typical to the Seheron’s seaside landscape. He needed a breath, a gust of fresh air to scare away his thoughts, to recompose himself, hoping Dorian will stop him from doing all that. He could already smell the mage’s perfumes, hear his breathing just behind him.

And they were again. Alone and lost, again. Hopeless, frozen midway, punching on the walls they’ve built, screaming on the inside.

Fenris closed his eyes just to see those piercing eyes and playful smile full of confidence from merely seconds ago.

“Let’s go back,” Dorian spoke up first stepping away and already turning back.

“Of course, I should’ve expected that,” Fenris said not even trying to hide his anger and slight mockery in his tone. Dorian stopped midstep and turned to him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, this time openly facing the elf.

“You know what I mean, mage,” the word rolled of his tongue differently as if it didn’t mean the same thing. To Dorian’s ears, this time it sounded like a challenge. Fenris crossed his arms visibly defiant to move.

He remained silent until he saw total loss and confusion on Dorian’s face. That funny thing the mage did with his eyebrows, furrowing them like a schoolboy facing an especially taxing quiz.

Fenris scoffed.

“So you’re all just soft words in the end,” he said finally looking the man straight in the eyes.

This time Dorian got it all too well. He had to look away, needed a moment to reply only with:

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Fenris looked angry, taken aback, but what was he supposed to say, do? Forget all his past failures, all those mishaps leading to losing friends, discovering that people who he thought were close to him were truly nothing but strangers, passers-by? Was he supposed to say he’s afraid the history will repeat itself and he couldn’t bear it to relive it with him? That he was afraid their differences were too great, that he wasn’t over Hawke enough and those shoes were too big for him to fill, that he would only be a disappointment in comparison. He was not the Hero of Kirkwall. He was afraid he was going to be a bay on Fenris’ way forward, even if the elf wasn’t aware of it. That he was afraid that he wasn’t ready to shrug off Fenris’ past, that he’d still see himself as an oppressor, haunted by the guilt of his countrymen. That he was ashamed and deeply disturbed to admit that he found Fenris’ markings beautiful despite how much suffering they caused him and how horrendous the sole idea was to begin with. That he was afraid they’re just going to hurt each other even more.

But most of all he was afraid he was going to ruin what they had, that the awkwardness will creep back and draw them apart, because even though he craved him like nothing else, he valued him even more. He wasn’t ready, and probably would never be, to accept the thought he may lose him because of succumbing to his own temptation.

How was he supposed to tell him all that?

Fenris sighed.

“What’s bothering you then? Is it because I’m an elf?” His tone taunt, spiteful. Dorian couldn’t bear to listen to this. “Is it somehow beneath you or…”

“It’s because it never works!” he exclaimed suddenly meeting Fenris’ gaze. He never felt so exposed, but he had enough, he wouldn’t let Fenris think that his race was what was in the way. If only he knew, if only Dorian could find smooth words for that.

Then he saw that Fenris didn’t understand, at least not fully. After all, everything always worked for Dorian Pavus.

“Fenris… You’re here now and you know how I appreciate your company and your help, but please try to understand,” he rubbed his temple trying to find the right words. “I don’t think I need to remind you how you felt when you were assigned to guard me, when the Inquisitor asked you to do it, and… I’m afraid I might… we both might have read your actions in the wrong way so…”

“I fought more than a dozen darkspawn and evil magisters and almost sacrificed my life for you. Dorian, I’d have saved you even if I was told not to,” Fenris interrupted him, but didn’t make a move. It was not his turn, he was not intending to force himself on this man who chased him with his words and stares he pretended not to notice.

Dorian stared at him, his fingertips tingling, his throat tight and soar despite the warmth Fenris’ deep voice spread in his chest.

Oh, he should’ve have run. He should’ve run before they talked.

He took two quick, sure steps closing the distances and pulled the elf close to him. He cupped his face and kissed him not holding back this time. And he felt Fenris small smile against his lips, felt his acceptance, his openness and his hands grabbing his precious, stylised hair he spent an hour combing. He laughed to himself feeling this wicked elf enjoying the destruction his sly fingers were doing, crumbling his shirt with the press of his body, kissing his lips sore. And there it was, this feeling of not being able to let go.

“They warned me about you, you marvellous elf,” he whispered pulling him closer, kissing him time after time so they could never say to each other it was only one kiss. “They told me tp watch out, to run,” Dorian huffed out pressing softer kisses to Fenris’ exposed neck.

“Maybe you should’ve listened to them, mage,” he whispered back finding his lips when Dorian’s fingers grabbed his hips. He let the man push him against the nearest tree and only laughed at the soft thud his body made. He didn’t stopped him when the mage cupped his buttocks pulling him closer if it was even possible. Fenris hand sneaked underneath Dorian’s shirt touching his startlingly strong back, clutching at his hot body. He quickly discovered that even despite the weather the mage was like a walking human furnace. His kisses pushing soft and loud gasps from his lips, making him chase him, hunt him to kiss him back again.

Fenris thought he was going to either explode or melt if this doesn’t go any further. Only to feel Dorian unbuckling his trousers and reaching for him. He pushed him harder against the tree, his kisses more sensual, longer, his hand doing truly magical things to him. Fenris was too far gone to worry if he lasted long enough, to care what sounds he made and how he grabbed the man pulling him closer, trying to memorise the texture of his skin and hair with his fingertips.

“You’re magnificent,” he heard Dorian’s whisper against his lips.

What mattered was that Dorian didn’t want to let him go, now kissing him softly, his forehead pressed against his. Fenris reached for him feeling his arousal, but the mage only shook his head.

“Another time,” he whispered. Fenris would never think Dorian could be selfless in this. “We need to go back,” he explained quickly not even remotely happy with the idea.

“And how will I come back now, hm?” Fenris whispered catching his breath.

“Worry not, my dear friend,” the mage smiled smugly and retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of his vest. “There are other reasons than simple fashion why I have it with me.”

“Oh, how very thoughtful of you to be always so ready to have something to clean your lovers’ come with,” Fenris snickered earning himself from Dorian a soft whip with the mentioned handkerchief.

“Fenris, don’t be vulgar,” Dorian scolded him, but pressed a soft kiss to his lips anyway. Fenris fixed his trousers and smoothed his crumpled shirt doing his best to look presentable enough.

“You go first. And fix your moustache, mage,” he encouraged Dorian, still leaning against the tree and waiting for his legs to start functioning properly again. He couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile at the sight of the mage’s completely messed-up hair. Dorian chuckled shaking his head and stole another kiss before turning away.

“And you, don’t you ever let me allow Felix to make room arrangements again,” he said winking at the elf before disappearing back into the light and music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and lovely comments! I hope the wait wasn't too long and you're all still here. I'm truly sorry for such a long break, but I don't have much time to write recently. No matter the wait worry not as there will be a next chapter as I really want to finish this and there's still a lot to come :)  
> I hope you will like this chapter and it will make it up for all the waiting! xx


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Dorian couldn’t sleep. To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult to foresee it was going to happen. He kept tossing and turning, boiling under the silk covers listening to Felix’s peaceful breathing nearby. He still could feel Fenris’ lean body pressed against him, taste his skin on his lips. He wondered if Fenris knew he growled in ecstasy clutching Dorian closer, his markings coming alive for a split second.

Dorian turned and lay on his back looking at the ceiling. Such an obsession was befitting a horny schoolboy, not one of the most promising and powerful mages in Tevinter. Especially, as the said mage was laying in his best friends bedroom, unable to do anything about his galloping thoughts.

At the party he continued talking with the guests. He laughed, he joked and drank. He danced a bit and mingled, and networked, and plotted. All the time and more than ever painfully aware of Fenris’ presence. Only when he rejoined the party, Dorian realised how lightheaded and unsatisfied he felt. Angry at himself for stopping, for not leaving all this behind and coming back home with the elf there and then. Amazingly, he craved Fenris even more, those kisses and touches didn’t appease his want even in the slightest. Dorian took a glass of wine to drown down his thought with more traditional method.

It was almost unbearable. It felt as if they were connected with an invisible thread, pulling at each end, chasing each other with discrete gazes, as if they never let go of each other.

Fenris reappeared from the darkness and took another glass of wine not even trying to pretend he wasn’t looking at Dorian. He smiled that one-sided, quirky smile of his, one arm crossed, watching that golden boy shine in the crowd, wrap everyone around his finger. His skin tingled at the power emanating from the mage, he felt him growing in power as if he gripped the air around them and held them tight. And surprisingly he felt comfortable with it. He didn’t talk to Dorian until the end of the party, he didn’t approach him, touched him nor danced with him as he knew they both couldn’t be trusted. He never let him of his sight wondering every single time Dorian twirled, fixed his moustache or brushed his hair how someone could be so inhumanly beautiful. Fenris might have hated Dorian for being a mage, but to deny the man his beauty would be simply preposterous.

He was downing his one of the too many glasses when Cassandra rationally decided it was high time for them to bid their goodbyes and leave as the Inquisitor started laughing too loud and kept on telling jokes.

On their way back Dorian thanked the Maker for Fenris’ usual aptitude to silence as no one noticed the elf being unusually quiet. From what he heard, Varric blamed it on the alcohol as well. Dorian walked first with the Inquisitor and Felix, his back burning from the gaze of Fenris’ eyes focused on him. Breathing in the musky air of nature in full bloom at hot summer night, he couldn’t decide if he wanted this walk to never end or to be back home as soon as possible.

“We need to talk tomorrow. I may need your assistance with something,” the Inquisitor brought him back down to earth. The man was tipsy at least, but in that instant he wasn’t babbling. Dorian only inclined his head not in the mood to hear what was going to happen the next day.

His mind also seemed as adamant about not thinking about tomorrow not letting him bat an eye when he finally fell on the bed and wrapped himself in a duvet, only to toss it aside a few seconds later. He stretched to get his phone from the nightstand.

_Dear Fenris, please, don’t ever allow Felix to make sleeping arrangements again._

_And please supervise me, when I do._

Dorian was already putting the phone away, when he felt it buzz against his palm.

_Go to sleep mage_

And even though he did learn it the hard way that it was a dangerous thing to smile to himself and to let his mind wander, he did it anyway as he suddenly felt he was not alone in tossing and turning that night. And maybe, just maybe, not alone at all.

***

The air tasted sweet and hot when he woke up. He turned to the side clutching the duvet and breathing in the fresh wafts coming through an open window. The house was already on its feet. Fenris growled turning again and looking for a clock to check the time.

It was half past noon.

Perfect.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Sparkler was a slugabed, but this tendency of yours never ceased to amaze. Very out of character,” he heard Varric’s baritone coming from the door.

“Pf, Dorian never stays in bed too long,” Fenris yawned stretching and finally sitting up.

“Oh, doesn’t he?” Varric jested casting the elf a side-glance. “Curious how you obtain such intel on _Dorian_.”

Fenris decided he wouldn’t deem that comment with a response. He passed the dwarf on his way to the bathroom. He really needed a cold shower.

That day they were supposed stay in, play Wicked Grace, drink wine, joke, talk, and go to bed, while the Inquisitor was out doing politics, dealing with worldly, important stuff. It wasn’t that Fenris actually counted on this or waited for this, but he was pleased they will have a day off. Especially one without the Inquisitor. He wanted to catch up with Varric and Cassandra and train with Felix, maybe, just maybe, he could have a chance to force Dorian to take a swing or two with a sword.

Cautiously optimistic he walked down the stairs guided by the smell of cooked tomatoes and freshly squeezed orange juice. Only to find Dorian standing there with the Inquisitor, side to side, arm to arm, reading something. Fenris slowed his step coming to the bottom of the stairs, a uneasy feeling creeping down his spine.

“What is it?” he asked cautiously approaching two men visibly startled by his appearance.

“Vishante kaffas! Don’t creep like this on people,” Dorian sighed turning to face the elf, a large card in his hand.

“So what is it?” Fenris asked again, all he could see was an elegant, black handwriting.

“An invitation for today’s ball, from the Archon to Altus Pavus,” the Inquisitor replied first, his proud tone earning him a scorning look on Fenris’s face. It didn’t sound good, at least to Fenris’ ears.

“I thought we’re not going to this ball, you said only the Inquisitor and the magisters were invited,” Fenris said directly to Dorian. The mage didn’t respond, he looked at the invitation and then at the Inquisitor. Fenris felt his anger flame up in an instant. The Inquisitor didn’t say a thing, one nod was enough.

“There was a change of plans,” Dorian said calmly looking the elf straight in the eyes.

“Perfect, so when do we have to be there?”

“You don’t, because you’re not going.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said you’re not going.”

“Like hell I am. Do I need to remind you what happened the last time?” Fenris clutched his fists, he was doing his best to calm down, not to show his marks, his skin prickling and already on fire.

“No, you don’t, but this is important, Fenris, it’s really important. And it’s a huge honour that the Archon himself invited me, I don’t have to explain this to you, Fenris,” Fenris couldn’t stand listening to this. Dorian didn’t let the atmosphere get to him, but only the Maker knew how it pained him to tell Fenris this.

“Yes, you do. You were invited by the Archon who orchestrated the last attempt on your life!” Fenris couldn’t believe it was happening. He was there, standing in a magister’s house trying to convince another mage not to get killed. Dorian must have gone mad.

And there was the Inquisitor. Still there. Standing. Calm, looking at them, at him, sure of his victory.

“We don’t know that, Fenris! I cannot decline such an invitation. You know what it would do to our case,” Dorian replied firmly taking a step towards Fenris. “Trust me, I’m fully aware what this means.”

“I can clearly see that you are not. They are going to kill you, Dorian,” Fenris said feeling a cold shiver going down his spine. It wasn’t funny anymore, it wasn’t one of their banters anymore. “Are you really going to let him do this? Weren’t you the one who told me he’s in a mortal danger and must be protected at all cost?!” He turned to the Inquisitor.

“He won’t be there alone, Fenris. We’re going together,” the Inquisitor said and then Fenris understood. This was the blow the man wasn’t able to make after their last duel, it was him taking back at him for winning, for bringing him to the ground in front of everyone, in front of Dorian. The elf scoffed at that.

“I’m coming with you,” he stated looking at Dorian.

“No, you’re not,” Dorian sighed. He wanted Fenris to be with him, he wanted to take him, kaffas, he wanted to _stay home_ with him. But they were still in Tevinter, regardless if they liked it or not, and Tevinter didn’t change overnight. He brushed his hair. “Fenris, please, understand, you cannot go with me, not tonight. It’s an extremely elitist event, magisters only, close circle. It’s truly unusual that he invited me, you must understand, I cannot come with you, it would be a complete scandal, it’d destroy everything we worked on, I cannot come with…”

“An elf,” Fenris finished for him. Dorian fell silent when his own words got to him.

“Fenris, I didn’t mean it like…” he started and took another step towards the elf, but stopped mid-step. There was fury in Fenris’ eyes, he felt the lyrium underneath his skins crackling, coming to life.

“Yes, you did,” Fenris seethed with disgust. For a split second he wanted to take a step back as seeing this Fenris gave him an absolute proof that the face of this elf was the last thing a lot of his comrades have seen in their lives.

“Yes, I did! Are you happy now?” Dorian replied exasperated, tired of this, of feeling wary, tiptoeing around everyone and everything. “But you know, just as I do, that it’s the truth and so far I can’t do anything about it and it won’t change unless I, from time to time, do things I don’t like.”

Fenris scoffed and shrugged at this crossing his arms and looking away. “Explain this to yourself as you like, mage.”

Maker knows, Dorian wanted to strangle the elf. He threw his arms in the air. “So maybe you can enlighten me what I should do, hm?”

Fenris turned to face him again and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t go there, Dorian.”

“I can’t do that and you know it.”

“I don’t.”

Dorian sighed, he moved as if he wanted to approach the elf again. But the Inquisitor was behind him, watching them, and he didn’t want to prove him right. Obstinacy wasn’t only Fenris’ flaw.

“We’re leaving at seven, should be back not long after midnight.”

“I hope they murder you, mage,” Fenris grunted leaving them behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back! Hope you're still there ;)


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Dorian clutched his stomach, an open bottle of wine still in his hand, his grip tight around the neck. He could barely walk, his legs wobbly and just about to buckle under his weight. For the umpteenth time he regretted he had definitely too much to drink. He tried to straighten up, but found it impossible, now hardly able to breathe properly.

“For Andraste’s sake, do you want to kill me, my dear Inquisitor?” He laughed, when he finally took a deep breath, wiping tears from his eyes.

Dorian wasn’t aware what time it was when he and the Inquisitor were walking through the garden after leaving the limousine that brought them home. Honestly, he wasn’t even interested what time it was, he hoped this night would never end.

The Alexius’ mansion was already hidden in the darkness, only few dimmed lamppost illuminating their way to the front door. The hot summer air smelled sweet again, Dorian’s head was pleasantly buzzing. Everything seemed vibrant, shimmering with colours, breathing.

“You were spectacular, my friend,” the Inquisitor smiled looking at Dorian. He took him by the elbow to steady his slightly too wobbly walk. The mage stopped and straightened up.

“Well, of course I was,” he answered with a smile and fixed his moustache theatrically. “Oh, how awfully appalled they were,” he sighed dreamily remembering the look on the Tevinter’s socialites’ faces. Not only was he the only altus to attend, but also he was named a special guest of the Archon. After all the years of being a pariah, this night definitely tasted like a triumph.

Dorian looked at the Inquisitor who courteously took a step back. Last time they had so much fun was in Skyhold, after they defeated Corypheus. They laughed, joked and drunk that night and everything was glimmering with light and life just like now.

“You know we are one step closer,” the Inquisitor said stopping before the front door. How did they get there so fast? Too fast, definitely too fast. They were standing in the puddle of light on a path of white gravel. Dorian turned to face him straightening his traditional black vest with a stand-up collar.

“I do,” even he felt he couldn’t find the right words. He didn’t want to feel too excited, but he wasn’t able to shake off the impression that evening had on him. It felt like they were taken back in time, two of them once again openly advocating for one cause, fighting hand in hand. Dorian was in his element mingling with the high society, talking, scheming, charming the crowd, a proud progeny of one of the most powerful houses of Tevinter. And finally, they wanted to listen. After seeing him with the Inquisitor, greeted by the Archon, announced by the Archon. And he still couldn’t believe what happened next.

“I know I put a lot on your shoulders, Dorian, but you must know I’m here for you, any time you need my help,” the Inquisitor’s voice resonated in the quiet night filled with distant sounds of cicadas. Dorian nodded smiling to himself. Oh, how differently this night would have ended if they were still at Skyhold. “Last few days weren’t easy, but I hope you know that I only have your best interest at heart. I don’t want to see you hurt, again,” the man added quietly looking away.

“My dear friend, I won’t be the one hurt after we’re done,” Dorian assured him and smiled one of his most mischievous smiles to hide this lousy lie. “And if this is about Fenris, then…”

“I wanted him to protect you and I believe that he’s doing an amazing job, but I’m worrying about… Let’s say collateral damage,” the Inquisitor sighed trying to find the right words. He looked around, but found only darkness surrounding them from everywhere. “It’s too important, Dorian, you know this, I’m worried if…”

“I’m glad that you’re at least good with a sword and a couple of other things,” Dorian joked winking at the Inquisitor. The man looked… sorry, honestly remorseful. He took a step closer and corrected his crooked tie. “I’m not as fragile as you think,” he smiled and backed away. “Let’s go home, my dear Inquisitor. We’re both too drunk for this now,” Dorian said feeling unbearably sober and craving for the content of the bottle he was still holding.

They walked in as quietly as possible. The whole house seemed to be sound asleep. Alexius Senior left the party way before them. Dorian dreaded the moment when they both reached the stairs. He didn’t want to go upstairs with the Inquisitor, especially as he didn’t feel like sleeping at all. And as far as he trusted himself to this point, he wasn’t so sure what may happen when they reach the top of the stairs.

“You go ahead, I’ll grab some water from the kitchen,” Dorian said when the Inquisitor started walking the stairs. He sent him an apologetic smile. “Sleep well, my friend.”

“You too, don’t stay up too late,” the Inquisitor winked at him and Dorian found himself alone in the long dark corridor. He thanked the Inquisitor in his head. But then he found himself unable to bear the silence of the house, all the splendour and music of hundred voices taken away from him. He took a sip from the bottle and headed for the veranda at the back of the house.

The smell of the grass breathing and giving back the heat of the day calmed him, made him take a deep breath washing away the buzzing and the thrill of the party that stack to him, his skin and clothes. Dorian took another step wanting to seat on one of the sunbeds, when he noticed the darkness shifting to his left. He was ready in a mere second, his free hand sparkling with magic.

“At least you brought something useful, mage,” Fenris’ coarse voice startled him. He didn’t notice the elf already lying on the bed, two empty bottles standing next to it. Dorian sighed calming down. He did notice, however, Fenris wasn’t looking at him, he only stretched his hand in a quiet request of the bottle.

Dorian wasn’t a man who would deny another person a bottle of good wine. With hands free, he moved the sunbed closer to Fenris’ and lied down stretching his legs. He took a quick look at Fenris taking a long sip, wiping his mouth and giving the bottle back to him.

“You took your sweet time at that party,” Fenris said still looking in the distance. “Thought they finally murdered you,” he added taking the bottle once again before Dorian even managed to drink.

“Apparently, they had a different entertainment planned for tonight,” the mage answered calmly looking at the elf, his lips curled in a discrete smile. He could sense Fenris was still fuming, so seeing that he refused to even look at him, Dorian also reverted his gaze and started to admire the garden submerged in darkness. He took the bottle and finally had his share.

“The Inquisitor returned with you,” he wasn’t sure if Fenris was asking or rather stating a fact.

“Are you jealous?” Dorian asked unnervingly tranquil taking another swig.

“I don’t have the right to be,” Fenris’s answer made him look at him. He found the elf’s eyes fixed on him.

“No, you don’t,” Dorian replied looking him in the eyes. He noticed Fenris’s gaze quickly checking him, searching for injuries. Dorian smiled and looked away breaking the silence, he relaxed again.

He enjoyed Fenris’s presence, even now. His quietness, the fact that silence didn’t feel awkward, but… peaceful. There was a storm going on in Fenris, but he could feel it slowly calming down.

“How did it go?” Fenris asked, he brushed off some unruly white strings of hair from his forehead.

“Splendidly, of course,” Dorian said passing him the bottle. “I’m quite positive that we made noticeable progress,” he added. He looked at the elf quizzically when he didn’t take the bottle. “Had enough?”

“There’s something you are not telling me,” Fenris sat up and put his feet on the ground. There was no point denying it, Dorian just haven’t figured out yet how to tell him. The mage emptied the bottle and sighed. This was harder than he thought.

“Can I tell you tomorrow? I need time to think about it,” Dorian replied slowly looking at Fenris ready for at least an annoyed scoff.

“All right,” at the sound of Fenris’s answer Dorian was sure this elf will at some point drive him insane. Usually he was good at reading people, foreseeing their responses and reactions, he was raised in Tevinter after all, but with Fenris… He thought he knew, he got to know him and then the elf was doing something like this. Backing away, calm, indifferent almost, even though he was close to murdering him only hours ago. Hm, hours, well… rather minutes, to be honest, but Dorian decided to be an optimist this night. What worried Dorian the most was the fact that he had a suspicion bordering on certainty that he was the one that was perfectly read by Fenris.

“Aren’t you tired?” Dorian changed the subject to stop himself from dwelling on the matter. He took a deep breath stretching on the sunbed letting the night engulf him. He never liked going straight to bed after a party, he preferred to take his time, didn’t want to let the lights go out too soon. Now, he found himself thoroughly enjoying this with Fenris’s quiet presence.

“Actually no, I much prefer being here than upstairs listening to Varric’s snores,” the elf shrugged. “And it smells nicer here,” he added matter-of-factly looking around the garden as if checking the perimeter.

Dorian’s lips curled into a smile, he sat up slowly. “Are you saying that you like how I smell?”

“Well, in comparison to Varric. I’m not sure it’s such a huge compliment, mage,” Fenris looked him in the eyes sitting in front of him with elbows on his knees.

“I take what I can,” Dorian offered him a smug smile fixing his moustache and drawing back a bit. He propped himself on one hand.

At that moment Fenris truly realised they were actually alone. No snooping eyes, ears ready to listen, no act needed. He was still mad at Dorian, but anger was just another emotion and it didn’t erase other ones, unfortunately. He saw Dorian was wearing a traditional sleeveless black vest. His arms bare, beautiful, scarless, living proof of Dorian’s beliefs and strong will. The elf leaned in as if pulled by an invisible thread towards the man. He smiled a one-sided short smile, when Dorian didn’t move, confidently poised and aware of his power. Of course doing this on purpose. Fenris breathed in tasting the air of the night and the smell of Dorian’s perfumes. Rich in musk, a hint of fresh flowers and citruses, patchouli and spices. But there was also something else, different, wrong. Fenris cringed and moved away pretending not to notice Dorian’s disappointed expression. The elf knew this scent by now all too well.

“So tell me more what happened at that… party, mage,” he said lying back on his sunbed and crossing his arms under his head suddenly interested in stars. Dorian huffed discretely. Not as discretely as he thought though, Fenris smiled to himself.

“Well, first of all, you would never believe the nerve some people have when it comes to fashion. Lady Jesabelle, you know, the old hag that didn’t want to move when we were trying to get a glass of wine at the last party, she wore an absolutely hideous, pink dress…” Dorian lied down as well. In the corner of his eye Fenris saw him gesticulating from time to time. “… So this was preposterous. Then we managed to talk to Magister Lehan, I always enjoyed his work, a great mind, extremely talented necromancer. I think we may find a supporter in him, we exchanged cards. Magister Gargen was less enthusiastic, to say the least. The Inquisitor tried sugar-coating him with all his swordsmanship shenanigans, but to no avail. And to think that the title of a magister once meant something, now it’s…” Fenris found the melody and timbre of Dorian’s voice soothing. After that horrible day and night of waiting, flexing and clutching his fists in anger, walking in circle like a caged animal, he enjoyed simply listening to him. Warm, vibrant, close, alive.

“… you’d have hated it, but the wine was good. We’ll see how much good it did, I’m cautiously optimistic. Tomorrow, however, I need a whole day to myself, no politics, it’s time to enjoy Seheron before we leave. I hope you’ll agree with me on this,” Dorian sighed stretching his legs. The black sky was slowly beginning to change to a lighter shade of blue and grey, first birds started singing in the nearby bushes of jasmine and cypresses. “Fenris?” He turned to look at the elf, only to find Fenris lying on his bed, soundly asleep.

Dorian felt as if he just drank a cup of warm wine, it was spreading all over his body, warming it up, making it deliciously weak. He stood up as quietly as it was possible and picked up a blanket Mrs. Alexius precautiously kept at one of the rattan chairs for the night dwellers like them. Dorian came back, crouched down next to the bed and covered Fenris with two blankets once he saw goose bumps on elf’s bare forearms.

“I hate smelling him on you, mage” Dorian heard Fenris’ sleepy whisper when he was just about to move away.

“Don’t tell me such things when all you want is sleep,” Dorian smiled almost touching Fenris’ ear with his lips. He brushed the elf’s white hair tucking it lightly. “Goodnight, Fenris.”

Fenris huffed at that and turned his back to him. Dorian stood up stretching his arms and looking at the sky becoming brighter with every second.


End file.
